Children of Time, Ep 13: Together Or Not At All
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: A broken Sherlock Holmes is finally returning to England, but Professor Moriarty still has a few aces left to play. The 'great and somber stage' is set for the final showdown... Part 4 of the season finale.
1. For Her Sake

**==Chapter 1==**

 **For Her Sake**

 _"Is it still considered a heartache when in fact, it's your entire body and soul that feel broken?"_

— Jaf Liethers

Sherlock Holmes returned slowly to the waking world, brain disconcertingly foggy. He groaned as his stomach began to lurch and perform drunken somersaults—why was his bed swaying like that…?

"Well," said a voice said dryly, "it would seem that the sedative is quite powerful, after all."

He knew that voice… it wasn't… Beth… _Beth_. _Slumped to the snow, stained with blood, her blood, leaking out around her fingers, her beautiful blue eyes clouded with pain before they went empty altogether_ …

He couldn't breathe. _No, it must be a nightmare, like the one with Watson… Beth isn't dead… she_ _ **can't**_ _be_ … He cracked open his eyes, hoping for a glimpse of his wife, and winced: the light hurt. And blurry though his vision was, Beth was nowhere to be seen—only the owner of that voice…

"My dear chap," it said with solicitousness that was aggravatingly false, "how _are_ you feeling? Dreadful, I presume?"

Jones. _"I don't know—isn't meat getting scarcer around here?"_

Beth was… Beth was gone, and that _monster_ had suggested… Holmes glared murder up at Jones, fully prepared to wrap his hands around the man's throat… only to find his hands were cuffed behind him. _You're a prisoner, remember?_ _**Damn.**_

The agent's eyes glittered coldly in return. "Ah, yes, terribly sorry about that—safety measures, you know. Good job you've woken up now: it's suppertime."

Holmes closed his eyes, his stomach performing another somersault at the thought. _I won't be able to keep anything down_ … Besides which, he wasn't about to make things easy for Jones. "No," he said hoarsely.

Jones's eyes narrowed, studying Holmes for a moment, and then his voice lost the pretence and turned serious. "No, I suppose not… not yet, at any rate. Let's see at our next stop if your stomach can't hold anything down."

The detective decided not to antagonise his captor, especially since he was extremely thirsty—his mouth and throat felt paper-dry. "Water…"

Jones raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Holmes gritted his teeth, pride warring with his thirst. _Enough is enough. I'm not dying, more's the pity; I can wait. I'm done begging for anything from this man_. "Never mind."

* * *

They were on a train, probably somewhere still in Switzerland. At the next stop, Jones held Holmes's head down against the bed he was on, and pushed a syringe into his neck. This time, the effects of the sedative felt gentler, more pleasant… he was so tired…

Until his mouth was pried open and something hard and flexible inserted into it. He cried out and choked, writhing feebly beneath the solid weight of Jones's hand on his chest. The offending object was a feeding tube.

His dreams were full of being forced to watch Beth undergo similar treatment at Moran's hand, Moriarty soothing her and telling her it was all for her own good. Holmes was rooted to the spot, unable to move no matter how hard he tried, opening his mouth to call for his wife but no sound emerging. Beth tossed and struggled, whimpering and crying as she had during her nightmare, begging Moriarty to make it stop, _let Sherlock go_ …

And then Moriarty glanced in Holmes's direction, coolly. _He is free to go whenever he likes; I no longer need him_ … and the Professor slid his hand caressingly, possessively, along her throat…

Despite the fact that returning to consciousness meant returning to a rioting stomach, Holmes welcomed wakefulness, though he attempted to pretend he was still under sedation as he resurfaced. _Oh no_. His stomach had other ideas. He kept still until the point of no return, then threw his head over the edge of the bed and retched onto the floor. The knowledge that Jones would be inconvenienced by it almost made up for his discomfort.

Sure enough, the agent swore under his breath as he moved to clean it up, shooting his prisoner a glare.

Holmes returned it with a weak but malicious grin. "Told you I wasn't hungry…"

Jones gritted his teeth. "Just as well, now."

"Oh?" Holmes said casually.

Jones smirked. "Mm-hmm, you'll see."

"Splendid," Holmes said dryly, "I do love surprises." He closed his eyes for a minute, then yawned and cracked open one eye to find Jones filling his syringe. "Are we there yet?"

Jones's eyes narrowed. "Are we where?" He sat beside Holmes and turned his face away to make the injection.

"The border," Holmes said, as if the answer were obvious. He tried to stay relaxed even as every inch of his body wanted to squirm. When the needle entered, it was with more force than usual, and Holmes winced.

"I don't know why the Director ever bothered with you in the the first place," Jones growled.

"Not a fan of Watson's work, I gather…"

Jones snorted. "Everyone in Torchwood who's had dealings with you has had to read the stories several times over." His sneer was audible. "Watson and the Director made you out to be something spectacular—and _you_ , my friend, are nothing more than pathetic."

Holmes affected a bored tone to conceal the feeling of his mind slipping into depression as well as the haze of the drug. "My word—something we actually agree on."

* * *

In the far corner of the Drowning Mermaid, Dieppe's seediest dockside tavern, a tall, dark-haired man sat nursing a beer. The barmaid gave him yet another winsome smile as she passed, which he returned somewhat absently this time, attention fixed on the two coves talking at the bar in low voices. One he knew well, the other he'd never clapped eyes on before, but something about the stranger's manner would have made Johnstone wary, even if his crew hadn't already informed him of the man's cargo...

The strange cove nodded at Sam Dawson in thanks and headed over to Johnstone's booth; behind him, Dawson was covertly giving his captain the 'reel in with care' signal. _Prime baiting, Sam, much obliged._

"Beg pardon, sir," the cove began, touching his hat, "but I hear you're headed back to England soon?"

"Tha's as may be," Johnstone answered in a rough, slightly slurred voice, looking the man over idly, and liking what he saw even less up close. "What's it to yer?"

"I need passage back for myself and one other, as quickly as possible."

The smuggler tilted his head, blinking. "What's yer rush?"

"The other man's a criminal – my superiors want him returned to London for trial."

Johnstone rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "An' 'ow's that worth me time?"

The cove took a pouch from his coat pocket and set it down on the table. "The other half on delivery."

At any other time, that sweet _clink_ would have told Johnstone all he needed to know. "Well, now..." he drawled, letting the greed show in his face, "I reckon we might 'ave a couple o' berths goin' spare." _And you, my scaly friend, can give the office over why it's just two... 'Ben', lass, what's happened to you?_

The stranger's answering grin sent a sudden chill down the captain's spine. "Much obliged."

* * *

Johnstone had been keeping a straight face with difficulty ever since they left port; the groans of pure misery coming from the stranger's 'cargo' – lying along one side of the boat, cuffed and hooded – made his own stomach want to lurch in sympathy.

Roughly midway across the Channel, Johnstone turned to his paying passenger and said casually, "Beggin' yer pardon, guv'nor, but me an' the lads carn' 'elp wonderin'..."

The cove's eyes narrowed, and Johnstone noted grimly that his hand was starting to drift towards the suspiciously-shaped bulge in his coat. "Yes?"

"Well, now, some of the lads are willin' t' wager that yer chouser down there is th' very same cove oo's got 'is face pasted up in ev'ry port in the south of England." To his crew, "Right, boys?"

There was a chorus of 'aye's from the rowers, one adding with a smirk, "Ain' no 'un could mistake tha' bowsprit!"

"So he is. What's it to you? ...ah." The hand stopped moving. "Well, if it's a share in the reward you're wanting, I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement."

Johnstone grinned appreciatively. "That'd be right generous o' yer lordship, thank 'ee." His expression became thoughtful again. "But, ah, isn't there a girl on them posters, too?" The grin turned lecherous. "Don't s'pose she's still adrift out there?"

The cove's jaw clenched, answering shortly. "No. She was killed, my... colleague bungled the job."

Johnstone's grin faded, eyes gleaming. "Aye me, that's a pity." A nod at the nearest two oarsmen, and all three drew pistols, aiming them at their passenger. "Looks like we're riding a bit low, lads – we might need to ditch some ballast."

The cove's eyes widened in fear and anger, raising his hands. "Are you mad, man?! What did I do to you?"

"That girl was a friend," Johnstone said sharply, "a rum wench who paid fair. Said they were running from someone last time she came this way, her and her flash cull, wouldn't say who..." He pinched his lips together tight, shaking his head. "And I don't reckon she'd rest easy if we stood by and let you get your mawleys on him. Fold your wings, boys." The rowers backwatered, stopping the boat. "On your feet, chum."

The cove stood as Johnstone gestured with his pistol, eyes darting around in vain for a way out. "Now, wait, it wasn't my fault the girl died. There was a struggle, my colleague's gun went off. Keep the man if you like, claim the reward for yourselves, and I'll double the payment to let me go."

Johnstone snorted in grim amusement. "Let you go? Good God, man, you're free to go wherever you please!" He jerked his head back the way they'd come. "I'd say we're just a little closer to France at the moment." Nodding downward, "Though I hear that way's quickest of all..."

The cove's eyes grew wider still. "I'll freeze to death long before I get to shore."

"Dear me, how tragic." The captain tilted his head as if in consideration. "I'll tell you what, though... if you do make it, we'll call it even. Best be off, now, before we help you out." He would have done it already, if it wouldn't be a waste of a perfectly good bullet.

Helpless with several firearms now trained on him, the man gritted his teeth, glaring pure hatred at Johnstone, then turned and dove into the water. By the time he resurfaced, the crew were already bending to the oars again, pulling away swiftly.

Johnstone nodded to Dawson, rising himself and coming forward. "Get the flash cull out of his bonds, and be gentle – he sounds ill."

Taking the hood off, Dawson hissed in sympathy. The cove was gagged and deathly pale, eyes closed, and the poor devil's neck bore several needle marks, one looking downright nasty, the skin hot to the touch. "'E's in a right bad way, Cap'n – what'd that bastard stick 'im with?" He cut the gag carefully, then took out his lockpicks and started working on the cuffs.

"God only knows." Johnstone crouched down beside their passenger. "Mr. Holmes?" He could only assume the name on the 'Wanted' posters was the man's real name. "Sherlock?"

* * *

Holmes shuddered at the sound of his name, even if something about Jones's voice didn't sound quite right... He tried to curl in on himself, scarcely managing any movement at all. _Not another injection... please..._ If Moriarty had ordered a slow death for his former protégé, Jones was doing a marvellous job...

"Dear God," Johnstone murmured, appalled; "it's worse than I thought." He laid a firm but gentle hand on the man's shoulder, raising his voice slightly. "Never seen an exciseman with a bowsprit like yours, guv'nor."

Holmes's breath caught. _That voice..._ he knew that voice, it was the voice of a friend... He opened his eyes slowly, blinking, trying to focus. Most of the trip across Europe had been a haze of half-consciousness and nightmares, memories blending into dreams, most of them nightmares in their own right...

"There you go, lad, come on..." Poor bugger, he looked like he'd been dragged through Hell and back. "Sam, fetch a blanket."

Holmes moaned as it was wrapped around him, the movement making his stomach lurch, the fire in his neck flaring up. The only reason he couldn't vomit again was because he had nothing left. Jones had quickly learned that he could feed Holmes or sedate him, but it was impossible to do both.

"You must've made someone very angry..." the smuggler mused aloud. 'Powerful enemies', the flash cull had said when they first met, and that pouch of gold hadn't been pocket change!

Holmes stared up in disbelief at the owner of the familiar voice, at last recognising him. Of all people... "...you," he pushed out in a dry croak.

Johnstone inclined his head, not insensible himself to the irony of it. "Aye, me. Your 'friend' hired my crew to take the two of you across."

Holmes's eyes widened in alarm—Jones! "No," he rasped, "you don't understand... he's not..." He managed to turn his head to look for his captor, but Jones wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"He's in the drink, lad," the smuggler cut in gently. "He'll trouble you no further." He was already regretting not being able to hang about and watch the bastard sink.

Holmes sagged in relief and closed his eyes, nodding slowly. _Good... for Beth's sake, good_... "No worse than he deserved."

Johnstone nodded. "Thought as much." He'd met some real cut-throats in his time, but he wouldn't have trusted that one not to knife his own mother in the back. "Who was he working for?"

Holmes shuddered and shook his head, silently imploring the smuggler not to ask again. _He and his crew will be safer not knowing... and Beth would have wanted that, too..._ _Beth..._ He turned his face away and blinked back tears. _...Beth and Johnstone saying farewell, smiling at each other... the warning in Johnstone's eyes to look after her..._ Oh yes, he'd managed that very well, indeed...

"...All right," Johnstone said slowly after a moment, "you know your own business best, I suppose." Quietly, "Is she really gone?" He'd had to ask, even if one look at the man's face was enough...

Holmes nodded jerkily, heart breaking. ... _the light going out of her eyes, turning them glassy and empty_... He trembled with the effort of holding back the tide swelling up inside him, demanding release... he'd hardly wept yet for her... but not now, not before his own rival...

The captain inhaled sharply, then turned and punched the nearest sack, cursing under his breath. "I'm sorry..." he said gruffly. "She deserved better." And that could have been _said_ better, he realised guiltily a moment later, but it was far too late to unsay it.

Holmes closed his eyes at the stab of pain in his chest—he wished that damned blade of ice would just finish the job... He did know what Johnstone meant, but... _but she always deserved better than you, friend or husband_. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely, "she did..."

* * *

By the time the crew reached Newhaven, their passenger had recovered enough to sit up, and even walk with help. Holmes was anxious to move on, claiming urgent business of his own in London, but the cove was clearly nowhere near well enough to ride. Knowing a driven man when he saw one, Johnstone reluctantly agreed to find him suitable transport, but only if Holmes agreed to rest and gather his strength in the meantime. Unfortunately, since the cove's face was instantly recognisable from all the posters around town, most of the smugglers' usual kens were now too chancy by half, which left only one option.

Johnstone knocked firmly on the back door of the modest townhouse. "Charlotte?" he called in a low voice, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the two crewmen all but carrying Holmes, who once more looked dazed enough to be sleepwalking.

The door opened, and a black-haired girl appeared, eyes wide at the sight of Holmes. "Tom, what's wrong?"

The smuggler gave her a hopeful smile, remembering too late that he'd promised to mend the broken gate on his next visit. "Will you let us in, sweetheart? I've got a hurt man here, he needs a place to rest awhile."

Charlotte, bless her, moved aside at once, opening the door wide. "Of course. You can lay him in the bedroom."

"You're an angel," her lover smiled, stepping inside and kissing her.

Weary as he was, Holmes flinched, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed the kiss. _Well, you haven't lost it completely: your first impression of the smuggler was spot-on..._

"Lucky for you," she smiled back, returning the kiss warmly. The smile quickly faded to a frown of concern as Johnstone's men bore Holmes inside. "How badly is he hurt?"

"His neck, poor devil. He was kidnapped and injected with drugs – and I'd reckon that needle was none too clean."

Charlotte winced in sympathy. "Oh dear. Well, I'll look after him right enough." They followed the other three into the bedroom, the crewmen laying Holmes down carefully on the bed while Johnstone built up the fire. "How long will you be gone?"

"Well, he's heading for London, but he's in no fit state to ride. I'll need to find him a cart."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Try Jim Dixon – he's back in town and he's always been reliable."

"Right. Bill, you're with me; Jack, you bide here –" grinning reassuringly for the patient's sake; "keep our swell in line for the lady." Johnstone came over to Holmes's bedside, trying not to look as worried as he felt – if the man got any worse... He gripped the too-thin shoulder gently, saying in what he hoped was a fatherly way, "Not to worry, lad, you're in good hands here. Try to rest, we'll be off before you know it."

Holmes almost lost his composure completely, barely stifling the sob that threatened to burst out—Johnstone was being so kind, and sounded so much like Watson just then... He tried to obey, closing his eyes. His body still felt as heavy as lead, but he was so hot and thirsty...

Johnstone watched Charlotte sit beside Holmes and smooth his hair away from his forehead, unconsciously wearing the little motherly look he loved so much. She could clearly see that the poor man's suffering wasn't just physical... Should he explain?

Holmes flinched. The woman's touch was too much like Beth's for comfort... _smoothing his hair as he wept for his brother, singing to him... oh, God, please don't let me forget her voice_... He didn't quite pull away, though: her hand felt blessedly cool on his overheated skin.

Johnstone waited a moment, then caught Charlotte's eye; she stood at once, frowning, and followed him out into the hall. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Just... don't be too gentle with him, lass." Johnstone sighed, then decided it was wiser to tell her, she'd probably find out anyhow. "Sweetheart, the people who took him, they... they killed his girl."

Charlotte gasped. "Oh, the poor man!" She glanced back over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door, expression troubled. "Tom... he looks in a right bad way... and if his girl is gone..."

"Mm. Still, _something's_ keeping him going, damned if I know what..." The smuggler shook his head gravely. "And heaven help anyone standing in his way."

* * *

 **Ria:** I'm really glad we could bring Johnstone back again, I do love writing him – and tossing Jones overboard was _so_ satisfying!

 **Sky:** Oh gosh, I love Johnstone so much... And poor Sherlock! No matter what version of the finale we've written, he always gets a really rough deal about this point in time.


	2. The Prodigal's Return

**==Chapter 2==**

 **The Prodigal's Return**

 _No matter how bad things get, you got to go on living, even if it kills you._

– Sholom Aleichem

Stopping at the gate, Charlotte leaned up and kissed Johnstone on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, laddie."

He gave her a saucy grin, hugging her. "Don't I always?"

She hugged him back, murmuring, "Still have to say it." Her smile turned sad, gaze shifting to the cart. "Take care of him."

Johnstone nodded solemnly and kissed her cheek, then asked innocently, "Anything you want from Bond Street while we're there?"

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Go on with you now!"

He laughed, climbing up into the driver's seat, and looked over his shoulder at Jack and Holmes in the back, the flash cull wrapped in blankets and hidden behind stacks of boxes. "All right there?"

Holmes nodded weakly. His wound had been cleaned and bandaged, and Charlotte had bullied him into sipping what felt like half a gallon of weak tea, but he didn't feel noticeably better. Nor was he looking forward to the jolting cart ride, he would have much preferred to go on horseback. Unbidden, his mind dredged up images of Beth riding, skittish as a horse herself but just as strong and more beautiful... _Beth_...

"Keep the kettle on, love, we'll be back before you know it." Johnstone gathered up the reins and clicked his tongue at the horse. "Walk on."

* * *

Crossing Waterloo Bridge over the Thames at a crawl, Johnstone had to keep a sharp eye on the crush of traffic; running someone down wasn't a good way to go unnoticed. This bloody London fog, though – _why_ wouldn't it shift?

"Cap'n?" Jack had been dozing fitfully in the back of the cart after his turn at driving, and the note of concern in his voice made the hair stand up on the captain's neck. "Come take a york at our swell, 'e looks sick as a cushion!"

Johnstone swore softly, he'd been afraid of this. "You drive." He waited until Jack climbed over and took the reins, then took his place in the back. Putting a hand on Holmes's brow confirmed his worst fears: the flash cull was burning hot.

A moan escaped Holmes, Johnstone's touch feeling horribly rough. His wound throbbed with fresh pain at the slightest movement—why didn't Moran simply shoot _him_ and have done with it? _Because this is a better revenge_...

The smuggler shook his head. "Well, that's it, then. We're taking you to the Infirmary."

Holmes's eyes widened in fear. "...no," he croaked feebly. He would rather die now...

"If you don't see a doctor soon, you'll die – I'm not having that." Not to mention that _both_ women would likely have his hide!

Holmes clutched weakly at Johnstone's coat, shaking his head pleadingly. "...n-need Doctor... Doctor Watson... only him..." The world suddenly began to spin around him, colours dancing before his eyes. "...please... take..." Would Watson be home at 221B... or out on... his rounds...

Johnstone swore louder as the man's eyes fluttered closed. "Whitechapel, Jack, quick as you can!"

"Right!" Jack whipped up the horse as much as he dared, straining his eyes through the fog as they rattled along.

"I'm sorry, lad," the captain said quietly – Holmes likely couldn't hear him, anyhow. "I'd find your doctor for you if I could, but I don't know where to start looking." It hadn't escaped his notice that the cove had been careful not to give him any specific addresses.

Whether through skill, Providence or sheer good luck, Jack managed to get them to the hospital with no worse mishap than an overturned fruit barrow. "Cap'n, if the sawbones 'ere know 'oo 'e wants, mebbe I c'n fetch 'im along?"

"Might as well try." Even if this Watson didn't have a practice, at least one of his colleagues must know where he lived.

Drifting back towards the waking world, Holmes heard male voices which remained frustratingly out of focus. "...Watson..."

The captain patted his arm soothingly. "Shhh... Don't take on, lad, we'll find him."

Jack reined the horse in hard outside the front entrance. "I'll wait 'ere with 'im, Ca... guv'nor."

Johnstone smirked at the slip, but nodded, jumping down and hurrying inside. "Stretcher! We need a stretcher, a man's been taken ill!"

Holmes groaned. Watson... he had to get to Watson... He tried and feigned failing to lift his head. He actually felt stronger than he had since... since... well, in a while. "Mon... tague..."

Jack pricked up his ears. "Montague Street? That where your doctor is? "

Holmes hardly had to fake his laboured breathing. "...yes... 17 Montague... near Russell Square..."

Jack grimaced, sighed, and nodded. "Right y'are, guv'nor. I'll fetch 'im." The captain wouldn't be happy with him leaving his charge... but really, what more could happen to the cove out here, in front of a hospital?

Holmes gave him a faint, grateful smile, trying to suppress a pang of guilt. _It's for the best—they mustn't get caught up with Moriarty_... Once Jack's footsteps faded in the distance, Holmes gathered all his remaining strength, and crawled out of the nest of blankets to the end of the cart. He lowered himself slowly, carefully, to the ground, arms trembling. His knees buckled for a moment as his feet touched the ground, then managed to catch himself.

He bent double for a few seconds and drew slow, deep breaths to stave off the returning dizziness, then launched himself towards the street.

* * *

Mercifully, it wasn't long before Holmes heard a man nearby hailing a cab to Regent's Park. He never knew afterwards how he did it, but he hitched a ride on the back without the cabbie seeing him. Instinct, perhaps. He wasn't thinking very well right now; he did much better by simply _doing_. And he was exhausted by the time they reached Baker Street; as they passed 221B, he dropped and landed heavily on the cobblestones, gasping as fire shot through every inch of him on impact. But home was _right there_ , looking the same as ever, and yet never more beautiful than now.

His head swam every time he so much as lifted his head—he couldn't possibly stand and walk, so he crawled to the steps, and up them. The doorbell seemed impossibly far away; even his long reach couldn't cover the distance from where he was, and he couldn't raise himself. He didn't have the strength to make a fist, let alone knock, so what to do… Ah, the letter flap. Arm trembling, he reached for it and rattled it.

From inside came a familiar female voice crying, "What on earth?!" The door opened suddenly, and there was a gasp. "Good heavens!"

Bleary-eyed but immensely glad, Holmes beamed up at Mrs. Hudson. She looked thinner, greyer, but still very much his magnificent, indomitable landlady. "S'rry, Mrs. Huds'n, los' my key. 's Wa'son back yet?"

"Who?" she said, stunned. "Young man, I haven't the faintest idea who you are or what you're talking about!"

Holmes stared at her in confusion, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of him. _Why's she saying that, of course she knows me_ … The world started to spin again, and he closed his eyes, trying to will the haze in his brain to dispel, to think… his head was so heavy… _just need to… rest it… for a moment_ …

The next moment, he was being lifted into small but strong arms. "There, there, you look as though you could use a warm bed and broth, poor thing. What on earth you're doing on my doorstep or how you got here in your condition, I can't imagine, but I'll not stand by and let you freeze to death."

The words were starting to jumble together in his head, though her tone of voice was reassuringly mothering. He wouldn't mind that right now… "Where's Wa'son?"

His arm was slung over her shoulder, and she carried him into the warmer foyer before kicking the door closed after her. "I don't know, dear—where should he be?"

Holmes frowned. "S'pos'd t'be here... came t' find 'im…" _Oh! The TARDIS!_ "Could be ou' back…" He tried to head down the passage to the kitchen, and failed entirely to move Mrs. Hudson or move away from her.

"My dear sir, really!" she said in the firm tone he knew only too well. She sighed and moved him towards the stairs. "Come along—you are quite delirious and you are going to bed."

"No, no, 's the TARDIS, see... lots o' room i' there..."

The going upstairs was slow and cumbersome. "The 'Tar-dis'... what an unusual name. If your friend wasn't in this Tardis, where else might he be?"

He shrugged in frustration. "Dunno…" He frowned—he had a reason for being here… "We were s'posed t' be... fixing... _something_..."

"Fixing what, dear?" she said gently.

He faltered, his vision turning blurry. The memories he sought seemed to dance just out of reach every time he tried to catch them. Pain, and tears, and shouting voices, and two sad blue eyes… "...don't know…"

They reached the landing at last, and Mrs. Hudson bore him into his bedroom. "You poor thing," she said in a tone he barely recognised. Was she… crying…? "If you rest, I'm sure it will come back to you." She threw the bedcovers back, lowered him gently onto the bed, removed his coat and boots, and pulled the covers up over him. "There you are. I'll just go and get you some water—I shan't be long."

He submitted without argument, unable to express in words just how much he'd missed her… nor could he quite remember why he seemed to have been away for so long… _maybe that's why she doesn't remember me_ … He closed his eyes, letting his weary head sink into the gloriously soft pillow… he'd forgotten what sleeping in his own bed felt like…

* * *

It was the first letter ever to arrive at Rosewood. John took it, eyes widening in recognition, and tore it open, scanning its contents quickly before jumping up from his chair at the kitchen table and running from the room, the letter falling to the floor. "I have to go!" he called back to Sally, who had risen as quickly as he had in shock at his behaviour. Balancing Kathy on her hip, she bent and picked the letter up.

 _To whom it may concern,_

 _My name is Sarah Hudson_ —

Sally sat back down, stunned. What was Mrs. Hudson doing, sending them a letter, and how did she know the address?!

— _and I reside at 221B Baker Street in Marylebone, London. I am writing on behalf of a young man who has been a guest in this house since he arrived at my door in the most dreadful state of health. He has been battling a severe fever, I believe caused by an infected puncture wound in his neck; although, Heaven be praised, the worst danger seems to have passed. I write to you of this because, even at his lowest, he would not allow me to send for any other doctor than one by the name of Watson, whom he asked for constantly in his delirium, and whom he seemed to believe might be residing at this estate._

Sherlock. Oh God, Sherlock. So that was where he'd been, all this time that they hadn't known… But where was Beth? She would never… never have willingly left him…

 _The poor man will not tell me his own name, but he is at least six feet tall, of naturally slim build, with black hair and grey eyes. Forgive my impertinence, but he has also frequently mentioned a woman called Elizabeth, whom I gather, from the tender way he spoke of her, was his late wife._

Sally stopped and reread that part. Surely she'd misread it… _his late wife_ … no… no, no, no… not Beth, she couldn't… she couldn't… not _Beth_ …

And _wife_?! They'd… they'd gotten married? Beth had finally gotten her heart's dearest wish… only to have it snatched from her…

 _If there is anyone who knows of this Dr. Watson, or where he may be found, then I humbly ask that he be summoned with all possible haste to Baker Street, where he is still most sorely needed._ _  
_

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _Sarah Hudson (widow)_

"Yew aw-roight, Missus?" asked Kelly.

Sally shook her head slowly. _Beth can't be dead… that's not possible… Nikola never..._ _oh my God, is_ _ **that**_ _why he's been such a hermit lately?!_ "Please take the baby," she muttered, depositing Kathy on the boy's lap. The baby started to whimper, but Sally couldn't comfort her just now.

She walked quickly, dazedly, towards the main staircase, then paused and shouted her husband's name. His face quickly appeared over the railing, as pale as she'd ever seen it. It must have been the tears beginning to fall on her own face that turned his expression from anxious to empathetic, and he hurried back down the stairs and gathered her into his arms.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispered as she sobbed, stroking her hair soothingly. "I'm _so_ sorry!"

She knew he had to leave soon; Sherlock still needed him, and John needed to go. But just now… she needed to not be alone…

* * *

 **Sky:** *passes out hugs to all our poor characters* Sally's scene was one of those last-minute additions again, which actually helped make this chapter one of the chapters with the most of my own writing in it. (We try to divvy up the scenes as evenly as possible, but Ria actually _does_ write more content for any given chapter than not.) Hopefully you didn't notice the difference at all: chronologically, this is the first time I've actually written Holmes's POV for this series. As comfortable with his POV as I'd felt once upon a time, I certainly felt as though I had a high standard to reach here!

Stay tuned for the Christmas update! Well, Christmas Day for... probably most of the world, and Boxing Day for a few people on the other side of the International Date Line. Trust me, reading the next chapter on or right after Christmas will absolutely be worth it!


	3. These Two Survive

**==Chapter 3==**

 **These Two Survive**

 _It always takes two. For relationships to work, for them to break apart, for them to be fixed._

– Emily Giffin, Heart of the Matter

Holmes stared bleakly into the old, familiar hearth; the dancing flames were somewhat soothing to his shattered nerves, almost hypnotic... and more importantly, it gave him somewhere to fix his gaze. Looking around the sitting room was too painful by half, and not merely because of his neck, which was still very stiff and sore, much like the rest of him. It wasn't the strange vantage point, either: sitting in Watson's armchair in nightshirt and dressing gown with a hot brick at his feet (he couldn't bear to sit in his own chair and stare at the doctor's empty one, or ask Mrs. Hudson to remove it); rather, he simply couldn't stop himself searching in vain for some indication... some sign that he and Watson had... lived here? Existed? Been more than characters in a story?

Holmes's violin, his case files, his chemicals... Watson's journals, his medical bag, his books... Even the bullet holes in the wall were gone, everything neat and tidy and looking like new – except for the carpet, Mrs. Hudson had been secretly pleased at having to replace that after a particularly volatile experiment of his.

And his bedroom... He'd never been more shocked on waking to find himself in his own bed, Mrs. Hudson bending over him. At first he'd thought he must still be dreaming... _such terrible dreams_... and only just kept from addressing the blessed woman by name, mercifully noticing in time that his room was almost bare, no rogues' gallery on the wall... but what could have possessed him to come _here_ , of all places?! He would already have set out for Warwickshire again, had it been in his power to do so, but that cursed fever had left him weak as a kitten, barely able to take two steps together before his legs gave out.

Besides, Mrs. Hudson would hear none of his protests, sternly threatening to pack him off to the Infirmary if he dared utter another word on the subject before she had pronounced him well enough to travel – not that he believed for a moment that she would... but he had all but broken down at her motherly scolding, he would never have believed how much he could miss even that. It had been a real taste of _home_ , he missed his home most dreadfully, and this primly respectable apartment wasn't it...

The shrill clamour of the doorbell made him start, wincing as his neck protested the sudden movement, heart pounding in fright. _Easy now, calm down, it's probably just a tradesman... and even if it wasn't, Mrs. Hudson wouldn't give you away._

"Mr. Smith?" Holmes suddenly became aware of Mrs. Hudson tapping on the sitting room door, before poking her head into the room. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, sir... but a Dr. Watson has just called."

 _Watson..._ Holmes's heart seemed to stop, barely hearing the landlady's next words.

"He says you're acquainted, sir, he's asking to see you urgently. What shall I tell him?"

"L-let..." Holmes cleared his throat, desperately pulling himself together. "Let him in, Mrs. Hudson. Tell him..." The detective's mind was still reeling, how could Watson possibly have known he was here? _For the love of God, man, what does that matter?! He came to find you, didn't he?_ "Tell him I shall be... very glad to receive him – and alone, if you please."

Seventeen steps never seemed so great a number as the widow went back downstairs... but as the heavier set of footsteps entered and ascended, Holmes's blood froze. The steps _weren't_ Watson's... Dear God, no... it couldn't be... but there was no mistaking that sedate tread, he knew it only too well... Fool that he was, he'd hadn't so much as thought to ask Mrs. Hudson what his visitor looked like!

* * *

James Moriarty forced himself not to hurry up the stairs. He still had heard no word from Moran or Jones, and the report that Mrs. Hudson had taken on a lodger and patient had only just come in. And then only to learn that his prodigal protégé had been hovering at death's door...!

He opened the sitting room door—oh, thank goodness, Holmes was alive and out of bed, even if he did look like Death itself... Moriarty had no need to feign his aghast tone as he murmured, "Oh, my poor boy."

Holmes had never thought he'd be grateful for an illness, his already pale face helping to conceal the shock and revulsion he felt at Moriarty's appearance. Even if he hadn't known the footsteps, there was only one other person besides Watson to whom they could have belonged: who else would use such a cruel deception but the Professor? "Moriarty," he said dully. "Excuse me if I don't get up."

"If you'll excuse my taking a seat." Moriarty took Holmes's chair, only to be able to face him. "You really have caused a great deal of commotion—that should please you. I still don't know where you've been, _per se_ , or where Miss Lestrade is or where Moran and Jones are."

Holmes gave Moriarty the deepest look of contempt he could manage, tone still just as disinterested. "And you think I'm going to tell you." If the man wanted answers, he could go and ask the fish... or the wolves...

Moriarty sighed in frustration, more weary than he would ever admit to anyone. He could not recall the last time he'd slept so little in several days' time... ever since the telegrams stopped coming. He thought he knew the answer, but for clarity's sake, he murmured, "Are they _all_ dead?"

Holmes couldn't suppress a shudder. _The light fading from Beth's eyes, her body limp in his arms_... and even the chance of vengeance on either of her murderers had been taken from him.

Moriarty exhaled slowly. A potential protégé, an excellent agent, his own right hand... "I see." And he didn't have to be psychic to read Holmes's cold eyes and listless air: _go to hell, I'm done with you and all of your games_. Ignoring that, however, Moriarty continued: "I am sorry—the girl's death was not my intention."

"You think I hadn't realised that?" Holmes replied coldly. The one thing he was glad about in all of this was that Beth was safe from any further harm; Moriarty would never be able to corrupt her... or Holmes's memories of her.

Moriarty sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling every bit of his ninety years. Not only had he lost his right hand man (and only true friend), but now it seemed that he had also completely lost the nearest thing he had to a son. It was rather disturbing how much that thought disturbed him. "I never should have let you go," he murmured. If he had held on to both Holmes and Elizabeth, certainly none of this would have happened. What a fool he'd been, to be swayed by the words of a child!

Holmes didn't deign to answer. If Beth hadn't come for him, Moriarty would have been regretting the loss of his former protégé long before this... and only his solemn promise to Beth that he would find Watson was keeping him from taking the same way out now.

Moriarty let the silence settle for a few seconds, then murmured, "Do you hate me now?"

That... was a good question. _If he handed you a gun right now, would you pull the trigger?_ Holmes sat for a long moment, staring into the fire, then answered just as quietly, "Yes... but not enough to kill you." His lips twitched mirthlessly, acknowledging the irony. "My condolences." He still wasn't certain if it was because of the history between them, or because he simply didn't care to put the monster before him out of his misery – but it didn't matter, anyhow... not any more...

Moriarty smiled regretfully and shook his head. "I should have treated you with more care."

Holmes's answering smile was equally regretful. "You should have died in Switzerland." At least he'd been able to respect that Moriarty, however inhuman the man had been by then.

Moriarty gave a humourless laugh. "I have wished many times that I had." That would have been so much easier, so much less stress and helpless rage and pain...

The detective sighed. "Was there any particular reason for your visit, Moriarty?" His former mentor's company had been insufferable enough when he was well, and these awkward silences were very quickly getting on his overwrought nerves.

Moriarty arched an eyebrow—he hated nothing so much as when Holmes was being deliberately obtuse. "I should have thought the reasons obvious."

Holmes echoed the eyebrow, hardly about to cooperate. "Besides your delivering a verbal 'Get Well' card?" His tone turned sympathetic. "My dear Professor, I had no idea you were so sorely in need of amusement. Has despotism lost some of its gloss?"

Moriarty shook his head again. "Are you even capable of holding a conversation without every other sentence coming out of your mouth being sarcastic? It's a wonder you ever had friends in the first place."

Holmes gave him a chilly stare. "I was under the impression we had covered this subject at the very beginning." _'I suppose the nature of friendship depends on the nature of one's friends...'_ And with Moriarty here instead of Watson, Holmes's last hope of ever seeing his friend again was rapidly fading. Nikola couldn't reach him... he'd eluded Johnstone... Mrs. Hudson didn't know Watson's hiding place, and he wouldn't consider alerting her in any case, Moriarty was a fool if he'd come unarmed... and Holmes was still too weak to even attempt an escape unaided.

Moriarty was attempting not to allow the overgrown child irritate him, but it was quite difficult. "On sarcasm?" he said innocently. "No, I'm afraid not. We can do so now if you wish."

Holmes snorted. "I have only one wish at present, my dear Moriarty, which would require a great deal more physical agility on your part than I believe you possess." Let the man make what he would of that.

Moriarty's eyes narrowed. "I should have thought such schoolboy language was beneath you. It certainly was when you _were_ a schoolboy." Young Sherlock Holmes had always possessed a temper, but he never sank to his peers' standards in terms of coarse language—or other unsavoury behaviour.

Holmes flinched, momentarily silenced. "...You should know..." he managed eventually.

"I know quite well." Ah, the memories... After Reichenbach, Moriarty had still intended to kill his opponent, and even inserted himself into the boy's school to study him for that purpose. But seeing the boy's loneliness, the brilliance that no one would allow to shine... and then, the child's tears caused by an unloving father... It had been all too uncomfortably familiar. So he'd befriended the boy instead, nurtured him with whatever scraps of affection were left in his own heart, and decided that whatever revenge he pursued in the future for the man the boy would grow into, it would not be death. "And I seem to recall your tongue getting you into trouble that your brother had to get you out of until you became proficient in boxing."

 _Mycroft..._ Holmes's jaw tightened, wishing he were physically able to demonstrate that proficiency at the moment. "So glad I amused you."

"You did far more than amuse, Master Holmes. You were a compelling force, even as a child, and, in the end, my 'ruse' went far deeper than I had ever intended."

"Is that why your tenure only ended once I had left?" He had wondered about that at the time.

Moriarty shrugged. "I enjoyed the opportunity to teach again, but, yes, the school became quite boring upon your departure." Teaching classrooms full of students had lost much of its gloss; he discovered that he much preferred private tutoring, as he had done when he first met Moran. "I'm afraid your brilliance quite spoiled me. I was certainly not to find another remarkable pupil again so soon."

"Is that so?" Holmes didn't bother to hide his faint smirk, though not overly flattered.

"Indeed… I suppose I'd grown quite fond of you."

"Delightfully ironic, isn't it?" Holmes sighed wearily, their prolonged conversation beginning to take its toll. "Pray don't think me inhospitable, Professor, but perhaps this discussion would be best continued the next time you call." What was the point of stalling for time when no rescue was imminent?

Moriarty's voice and expression grew grave. "I am afraid there won't be a 'next time', my boy—I'm taking you home." He had to try—he had no one left.

Holmes arched an eyebrow again with a considering expression, then shook his head in mock regret. "A most gracious invitation, my dear sir... but I am afraid I shall have to decline." Heaven knew there was little he could physically do to prevent Moriarty from taking him back, but it was the principle of the thing!

Moriarty's eyes narrowed. "I would not 'invite' you without having first discovered new… incentives… to ensure your cooperation." He hated having to do it, but the boy was far too stubborn and grounded in his rigid morals.

Holmes's eyes gleamed in contemptuous amusement. "Then allow me to spell it out for you, Moriarty: I have no intention of cooperating. I don't hate you enough to try to defeat you; from this point on, it would be a one-sided game at best, a debacle at worst. As Jones was so good as to make clear to me on the return journey, you would become even more of a laughing-stock at Torchwood than I."

Moriarty gritted his teeth briefly—how _dare_ Jones... "Allow me to decide what I shall become. _You_ , however, do not have a choice—you are coming home with me."

Holmes shook his head, answering softly, "Everyone has a choice, Moriarty – and that is something I will always regret failing to realise when it mattered most. I should have heeded Watson from the very beginning, and dared you to do your worst." It would have been easier to bear than all of this...

"Very well, let us say for the sake of argument that you _do_. You, then, shall have to 'choose' which apprentice I shall have: the admittedly infuriating and stubborn adult or the innocent and powerful infant whose existence I have recently discovered?" Elizabeth's journals had provided a wealth of information.

 _Katherine..._ Holmes was frozen with horror as he listened, but regained sufficient command of himself to reply coldly, "You amaze me, Professor – I would never have thought of you as that suicidal. Were you to come within a mile of John Watson's daughter, the wrath of the Oncoming Storm would be as nothing by comparison." Not to mention his own displeasure.

Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "No doubt, save for one minuscule but important detail: Watson is only mortal."

Just as Holmes opened his mouth to deliver a blistering response, the doorbell rang. The detective's heart missed a beat, the words dying forgotten on his lips. _No... it can't be... surely not, not_ _ **now**_ _, let it just be a postboy!_

Moriarty stiffened, hand immediately going to his revolver.

Holmes's mind raced, frozen with indecision even as Mrs. Hudson's footsteps sounded in the downstairs passage. He couldn't call the woman upstairs, not with Moriarty in the same room... but if he _didn't_ call...

Moriarty didn't know who was calling, but in the interests of precaution... With his free hand, he drew a syringe out of his coat, the syringe already filled but capped on both ends to avoid mishaps. He aimed the revolver at Sherlock's right shoulder and leaned forward, offering him the needle. "I believe you know how to use this," he murmured.

Holmes paled, feeling ill just looking at it – thanks largely to Jones treating him like a pincushion, he now had an out-and-out loathing of the damn things. He shrank back, one shaking hand going protectively to his bandaged neck.

There was the sound of the front door opening... Mrs. Hudson's voice inquiring... and Holmes's chest tightened painfully on hearing a very familiar, much-missed voice, tone polite but anxious, though he couldn't make out any of the words...

Moriarty cursed under his breath—how had Watson known to come?! He nodded at Holmes's left arm. "The needle or the bullet," he said coldly, "which shall it be?"

Holmes swallowed hard, resisting the strong temptation to simply shout for Watson – the odds were good that it would only make the situation much worse. He pushed back the sleeve of his dressing gown and nightshirt, flicking his forearm to make the vein stand out, trying to move as slowly and awkwardly as possible without arousing suspicion. He was so busy concentrating on what he was doing that the sound of the front door closing again came as a shock, especially since Mrs. Hudson's footsteps were going back to the kitchen... and alone...

Moriarty frowned. Why would Watson leave the building? Certainly, if he gave Mrs. Hudson his name and learned that another 'Dr. Watson' had already arrived... "Get on with it," he hissed.

Holmes sagged, not sure if he felt more relieved or bitterly disappointed, but decidedly bewildered. He'd been prepared to swear it was Watson... but then why would the man leave again so suddenly? Maybe... maybe it hadn't been Watson... it wasn't as if his friend could have known... but just in case... Taking the syringe gingerly, he placed the tip of the needle as close to the raised vein as possible without touching it, counting on his shaking hands and Moriarty's distraction to help him get away with this ruse. He didn't need to feign a wince as he pierced his flesh with the needle, pressing the plunger down until the syringe was empty. The drug was still going to do its work, but not going directly into the main bloodstream might allow him a precious extra minute or two – especially if this was the sedative he suspected it was...

"Good boy," Moriarty purred, gazing about him warily.

Holmes drew out the needle with a grunt, dropping it in his lap from supposedly clumsy fingers, letting his arm fall so that the sleeves also fell to hide the puncture mark. Greatly familiar with the effects of the sedative by now, he began to loll his head as if it were already becoming too heavy to hold up. _Steady... if your heart rate goes up, you'll succumb faster..._

"One last question," Moriarty mused, "before you lose consciousness: what became of Elizabeth's body?" It was... pure conjecture at this point, but there was a possibility that if a corpse could be preserved well enough...

The detective gave him a bleary-eyed glare, slumping back in the chair. "Go t'hell..." he slurred, 'struggling' to keep his eyes open. Did the man honestly think he wouldn't take his wife's resting place to his own grave?

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Moriarty muttered, rising from his seat.

And then the bedroom door swung open, revealing John Watson standing in the doorway, disheveled and holding a revolver, which he aimed at Moriarty. "Drop the gun," he ordered, voice and eyes steely.

Moriarty returned the gaze, his own gun not wavering from Holmes's shoulder. "Dr. Watson, what a pleasure."

* * *

Holmes stiffened, thunderstruck. _Watson_... his friend had... had really come... He only just managed to keep up the sedated act, eyes widening for a moment before he made them droop again, although that wasn't as difficult now. Trembling with the effort of keeping from turning to look, he allowed himself one pleading whisper: "...Wat...son..." then forced himself to relax completely, head falling onto his shoulder.

"Doctor," Moriarty said coolly, "I must ask you not to make any false moves—my trigger finger is a bit twitchy just now." How the _hell_ had Watson known to come back?! Even Tesla wasn't so powerful a telepath to have sensed Holmes's return to England; Moriarty was sure of it.

Watson's eyes flickered towards Holmes's limp form for a moment, his own aim never wavering from Moriarty's chest. "What have you done to him?" he all but growled, genuinely appalled at Holmes's appearance – his friend looked more ghost than human!

"It is merely a sedative; he shall be fine." As if Moriarty were directly responsible for Holmes's illness!

"No thanks to you." And that pleading whisper... If Watson hadn't known already that Holmes truly regretted their falling out, the sound of his own name would have banished every last doubt.

"Doctor, let me be perfectly clear—you may have been allowed in, but unless I also leave this house alive, you will not." The Professor couldn't think how his men had allowed Watson entry in the first place.

"I've no objection to your going, Moriarty," Watson countered flatly, "but without Holmes. He's done with you." Thank God he'd thought to bring that letter with him – Mrs. Hudson had been deeply suspicious at first when he and Will arrived on her back doorstep, but Watson hadn't needed the Irregular to tell him that the front of the house was likely still being watched. He'd counted on Moriarty simply not considering that a doorbell could be rung from either side of a door... and with Mrs. Hudson now well on her way to Lestrade with Will as escort, his main concern was stalling for as much time as he could manage.

Moriarty arched an eyebrow. "And yet I am not done with him. I do not intend to allow twenty-five years of work to go to waste."

Watson's lip curled, making no attempt to conceal his profound disgust. "My God, man, is that all he is to you: a lab experiment?"

"He is an _heir_ ," Moriarty snarled, eyes flashing with anger, "the only being I've ever known out of the _pathetic_ mess that is mankind who could continue my work if he would put his great mind to it!"

Watson snorted. "You don't want an heir, Moriarty – why would you need one with Time frozen?" As if the Professor would ever have considered relinquishing his empire to anyone else, even Holmes!

Battling the growing sleepiness as the sedative coursed through his system, Holmes cracked his eyes open the merest slit, watching Moriarty intently for his chance to strike... but a pang of fear shot through him at Watson's next scornful words: "Holmes has never been anything more to you than a possession." _For the love of God,_ _Watson, what are you doing?!_ "It would be all the same to you if you had his 'great mind' in a specimen jar..."

Moriarty felt his face redden with fury, as angry at himself for reacting as he was at Watson. "Get out," he hissed.

Watson smiled grimly. "I don't think so _._ " _I failed you too many times already, Holmes... I'm not leaving you now._ At least he could be fairly sure Moriarty wouldn't risk shooting Holmes, however angry – with the detective in such abysmally poor health, even a flesh wound could be fatal.

Moriarty smiled maliciously, turning his gun towards Watson's chest. "Oh, Doctor, it will be a pleasure to be rid of you…"

 _No!_ As Moriarty's arm moved, Holmes snatched the syringe from his lap, lunged and stabbed the needle up into the Professor's forearm.

"Holmes!" About to dive for cover behind the settee, Watson was caught completely off guard by the detective's sudden movement, his attention wavering for a crucial second.

Moriarty snarled in pain and surprise—how on earth?!— knocked Holmes aside, shooting half-blindly at Watson, then pulled the stubborn detective up into a choke-hold.

Watson cried out as the bullet tore through his left upper arm, staggered and fell to one knee, though he somehow managed to keep hold of the gun. _Breathe... dear God, the_ _ **pain**_ _... Head up, soldier, you've suffered worse! On your feet!_

" _Watson!_ " Holmes struggled weakly, arms now heavy as lead as he strained to reach Moriarty's gun.

Moriarty tightened his hold around Holmes's neck, readjusting his aim at Watson, then lowered his head to murmur in the detective's ear, "Should I do my worst?"

 _As I shall do mine..._ Gathering the last of his strength, Holmes reached backwards and scratched clumsily at Moriarty's face.

"Damn!" Moriarty hissed. Too enraged to think properly, he snapped the gun round to fire directly into Holmes's right arm, who screamed in agony.

Watson raised his gun where he knelt, eyes blazing; aimed at Moriarty's head with a hand that scorned to tremble despite the fire in his other arm, pulled the trigger... and professor and detective both crumpled to the floor, Holmes pinned by the dead weight of Moriarty's lifeless body.

"Holmes!" Holding his left arm stiffly yet able to think past the pain in his concern, Watson hurried to his friend and lifted the corpse off him, pulling Holmes carefully up into his hold. Cradling the detective, Watson pulled out his handkerchief, for lack of anything better, to stem the blood flow. "My poor, poor friend..."

Holmes moaned as he was lifted, mind fogged with pain and the sedative. Struggling to think straight, barely able to move, he looked up at Watson in wonder, tears welling up. "Watson..." he whispered, "you... you came back..."

Watson blinked back tears of his own, forcing a watery smile despite being all too keenly reminded of when Holmes woke up from being wired into the Controller's database of souls. "Yes, I came back."

"...y-you're hurt..." Holmes tried to reach up to Watson's bleeding shoulder, trembling with the effort. _My fault... I should have acted sooner!_

"Shh," Watson said gently, "never mind it; it's not as bad as your wound." A fresh and sudden wave of guilt nearly choked him. "Dear God, Holmes, I'm so sorry!"

Holmes's own throat was tight, tears streaming as he croaked, "Watson... I've been... such a fool...!" Sick with shame, he made himself look his friend in the face. "Forgive me... please..."

Watson's breath hitched. "I do forgive you, Holmes… Can you forgive me? For being thoughtless… and insensitive… and cruel… for not being there when you needed me?"

 _No, Watson, it wasn't you, it was never you!_ "There's nothing... to forgive, Watson... I deserved everything... you said to me..."

Watson shook his head. "Not everything." Not most of it—Holmes had had every right to be indignant. "I should never have left you."

"But if I had not done my best... to drive you away..." Holmes choked, face crumpling at the memory of all those hurtful things he'd said. "Oh, Watson... how I've missed you!"

Watson held his friend close, but only for a few seconds, intending to put together a tourniquet as quickly as possible—he was already afraid that Holmes might never play his violin again. "I've missed _you_ —so much…"

 _...and unnoticed by either man, Moriarty's body faded away and vanished, the 'V.R.' reappearing in the wall as the sitting room quietly rearranged itself, all of their possessions trickling back into their old places..._

Suddenly, there was a noise upstairs that Watson would have sworn was his imagination—it sounded like Katherine crying!—but then he heard the banging of the back door downstairs. And there was the sounds of someone hurrying down the stairs while someone else was running up them...

* * *

Beth came to with a rush of air, eyes flying wide open. She choked and gasped for a few seconds to regain her breath, then startled fully awake, jumping to her feet. _I'm... alive?! But..._ _ **how?!**_ But she already knew the answer—there could only be one reason why she would have come back: Sherlock and John. The London sunlight was watery and pale but unmistakably sunlight, and she had been lying on the cobblestones of the lane behind Baker Street, and dear old 221B rose before her. Grinning in delight, she hurried into the house and up the stairs and into the sitting room—

—and stopped in shock. John was cradling Sherlock in his arms on the floor, both bleeding from arm wounds, John from the shoulder and Sherlock from... his... oh, zed, that was so much blood... "Sherlock?"

* * *

" _Sally, quick, take Kathy!"_

" _Nikola...!"_

" _...my God..."_

Sally gasped as Nikola disappeared before her eyes, a mere moment after the telepath had thrust the baby back into her arms, his workshop changing in a heartbeat... to a bedroom?!

 _Mama!_

"It's okay, honey," Sally murmured, rocking her daughter automatically as she started to wail, staring dazedly around her. This room... that bed... that luggage! "Oh my God..." she whispered, tears springing to her eyes, then tightened her hold on Kathy and ran for the stairs. _We did it!_

* * *

Holmes stared at Beth, speechless, chest aching – he'd seen her so often in his dreams, but never while awake...

Beth looked to John, then back at her husband. "What… what happened…?"

"Beth!" Sally had almost lost her footing on the stairs when she saw who was dashing up the last few steps to the landing! _Thank_ _God_... she'd hardly dared to hope... but when she came up behind her friend, her face turned white. _John!_

Watson stared in shock and joy at the women standing in the doorway. "Sally..." He shook himself and smiled as reassuringly as he could manage through his own pain—Moriarty _would_ shoot his bad shoulder, too... "It's going to be all right, Beth—Holmes and I just had a bit of a run-in with Moriarty." On instinct, he looked around the room and found, with relief, that his medical bag was back in its place. "Bring that over here, will you?"

Dazed, Beth picked up the bag and gave it to John. _A bit of a run-in... this is a lot more than a bit of a run-in! And what_ _ **happened** t_ _o Sherlock?!_

 _Papa...?_

Damn! Sally could have kicked herself for letting Kathy see this, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Trying to think soothing thoughts, she carried the baby in and knelt beside her husband, gazing in horror between the two men.

Holmes still couldn't believe what he was seeing, this couldn't be real, it had to be the drug... _then why can everyone else see her as well, you idiot?!_ "...Beth...?"

Crying silently, Beth knelt by his side and kissed him on the cheek. "I"m right here," she said hoarsely. _I'm real, sweetheart; I'm alive_.

 _Papa._

Sally looked sharply down at Kathy – her daughter had stopped crying, her infant 'voice' suddenly sounding much more focussed than Sally had ever heard it before, staring thoughtfully at her father. _Help Papa..._ and Sally stared in shock as golden light began to radiate from the baby's tiny hands.

Beth's eyes widened—she'd seen that light before... "Baby Time Lady..."

 _Papa-friend..._

Watson and Holmes both stared open-mouthed in wonder... The light looped around the pair, enveloping them, Watson gasping as the pain in his shoulder faded entirely away... "Holmes!" Colour and vitality was returning to Holmes's face...

Holmes blinked, letting out a long breath of relief as the fog lifted from his mind, strength flowing back into his body... Finally able to lift his head, he watched in amazement as his and Watson's arm wounds rapidly grew smaller, flesh and bone knitting back together seamlessly.

Sally was still clutching Kathy tightly, staring in awe; she was going to kill John! True, he _had_ told her about meeting their daughter in the future, but he'd never said anything about this!

Beth covered her mouth, caught between shock and wonder. _Thank you, Kathy... thank you so much_...

Holmes sat up as his and Watson's wounds disappeared altogether, and the two friends embraced tightly, pounding each other on the back, laughing in sheer relief... then Holmes let go with an apologetic look, turning to Beth almost hesitantly, eyes glistening – he could still hardly believe he wasn't dreaming!

Beth smiled past her tears. "Oh, Sherlock!" She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. She was back... back with him... and everybody was okay...

He returned her embrace fiercely, trembling. Tears spilling over, he turned his head to kiss her hair, breathe in her scent... he _couldn't_ be dreaming that, she was _here_ , she was _real_... "Beth...!" he choked. "Oh, thank God!"

"I was so scared for you," she whispered, reveling in the ability to touch him and hold him again, things she thought she'd never be able to do again.

"I'm sorry, Beth," he said hoarsely, starting to sob, "I'm _so_ sorry!" Could she ever forgive him?

She stared at him in bewilderment. "For what? Sherlock…?" She started to stroke his hair soothingly. "For what, love?"

He drew a trembling breath, trying to calm himself. "I sh-should have been there... protected you..." They'd stayed at the chalet far too long, he should have known Moran would catch them up!

She shook her head and tightened her hold. "Honey, there was no reason for you to be—I was just getting _firewood_. You can't blame yourself; it's not your fault. Okay?" She pulled back to look him in the eye, lowering her hand to cup his cheek. _My poor love... what you must have suffered_... "Not your fault," she murmured.

He leaned into her touch, placing his hand over hers, but shook his head miserably. "If I hadn't been sleeping off that cursed hangover..." The devil take him if he ever touched another drop of liquor again.

She forced herself into her no-nonsense mode and said firmly, "Sherlock, stop. _It wasn't your fault_. Please, you have to believe that... for _my_ sanity as well as yours!" She grinned ruefully, hoping to coax a smile out of him.

He gave her a faint, watery smile, the tightness in his chest easing a little; she was such a comfort to him, he didn't know what he would have done without her after Mycroft... Holmes's hand flew to his mouth, a sobbing laugh escaping as he realised: if _Beth_ was alive again...

Beth frowned, stroking his cheek gently. "What? What is it?"

"Mycroft..." he answered thickly, eyes shining now with more than tears. "Beth, he's alive!"

 _Of course! If you've come back—_ Eyes wide, Beth smiled in wonder. "Oh my gosh, yes!" She hugged him excitedly, thrilled for both brothers' sakes.

Feeling as if a great weight had suddenly fallen from his shoulders, Holmes hugged her back tightly, tears of joy flowing unhindered. _Thank God... thank God..._

Meanwhile, Watson had moved to take his wife and child in his arms, holding them close. "Oh, my dears," he murmured, grateful beyond words to have them both here.

"John..." Sally hugged him tightly with her free arm, her immense relief barely overriding the sudden, strong urge to slap his face. _Don't you_ _ **ever**_ _scare me like that again, you stupid jerk!_ "Thank you, Kathy," she whispered down at their daughter who, incredibly, seemed to be quickly dropping off to sleep. Then again, a baby Time Lady who had just healed _two_ grown men probably needed all the rest she could get.

Watson shook his head in pride and wonder—he would never have dreamed that the powerful young Time Lady he'd met in an American military base would turn out to be his daughter, much less that she could heal others as well as herself even at this age! _Thank you so much, Kathy_. "Our clever wee girl..."

Sally nodded, smiling mistily, dropped a soft kiss onto the baby's hair, then kissed her husband warmly, not giving a damn this time whether Sherlock was watching or not. If Beth hadn't talked the stubborn hypocrite round by now... well, Sally would just have to give him the earful she'd always meant to!

Watson returned the kiss gladly and, as he and Sally pulled back, looked over at Holmes and Beth, eyes glistening at the sight of the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms. It had been one thing to watch his friend falling in love through Beth's eyes, but to see the two of them together like this? It was more than he had ever dared hope.

Holmes felt Watson's gaze and looked up, smiling proudly, if a little sheepishly. From the look in his friend's eye, there was definitely going to be some merciless ribbing later, but he didn't care.

Beth lowered her arms, smiling and moving back a little. If Time had been restored... "Um… you should probably get going." She rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously, realising that their emotional display was their first in front of an audience (Moran certainly didn't count). "You've got a case to solve."

Holmes's eyes widened. "Good heavens, yes!" Oberstein must still be in Paris with the submarine plans... and come to think of it, Beth had never told him what actually happened on the night of West's murder. Wonderful girl, steering clear of potential paradoxes even with everything going to hell!

Watson frowned. "Well, we're certainly back _where_ we started... but _when_ are we exactly?"

"I think..." Sally said slowly.

"Judging from where we girls were," Beth continued.

"The morning we got here," Sally finished.

Holmes looked over at the clock on the mantel. "Half past nine... Mycroft and Lestrade had just left..." He looked back at Watson, both men's faces turning crimson, meeting each other's gazes awkwardly – neither needed reminding of what had happened after. Holmes cleared his throat. "Which I rather think means, Watson... that we have an appointment with Lestrade at Aldgate Station in half an hour. That is..." _'Heaven knows I am most familiar with your disregard for common courtesies...'_ "...if you would care to accompany me?"

A fresh wave of joy surged in Watson's heart. "It would be my honour, Holmes."

Sally blinked back more tears at the way her husband's face had just lit up like a Christmas tree, Beth wearing much the same misty smile as her. "Well, you two," she said gently, "you don't want to be late." Besides, she and Beth were long overdue for some tea and girl-talk! She'd missed her friend so much...

Holmes nodded absently in answer, though not in an unfriendly fashion, trying to retrieve the details of the original case from his brain-attic – it seemed half a lifetime ago since the Doctor had brought them back. "Good Lord, the Doctor!"

"Well… with any luck," Beth mused, "he's probably getting out of the Cardiff Rift right now." The poor Doctor... most of her anger and resentment towards him had long since faded away.

Sally nodded, grimacing. "I can't imagine the TARDIS is in the greatest shape, though." Nine months in the Rift... and God only knew what else might have been floating around in there!

Watson nodded, frowning as he recalled what Nikola told him about Moriarty's interference—and then he inhaled sharply. "Oh, God... Nikola and George..." At his friend's curious look, he explained. "Holmes, they were still at Niagara when all of this started happening—so if we're all back where we began..."

The girls' faces fell, Sally's the furthest. "I was with Nikola just five minutes ago." She didn't want to think about what might have happened to Kathy if the telepath hadn't sensed Time resetting... and George had been more than a friend, he'd been a father figure to her and Beth as much as he had to the boys.

Beth bit her lip—she _adored_ both inventors. She dearly hoped she'd get to see them again someday.

Watson hugged Sally. "At least we know they're safe, love. And I'm sure Nikola can tell we're all right."

Sally sighed, but nodded, echoed by Holmes, disappointed himself at not having the chance to see the pair at all before they'd left. "You're right, Watson," he said, rising with Beth. "But now we'd best be getting ready – we're both in dire need of a wash and a change of clothes!" Not to mention disposing of all their bloodstained garments before Mrs. Hudson saw them.

Beth eyed him critically: despite regaining a pleasingly healthy colouring, he still resembled a skeleton a bit too much for comfort. "And some food for _you_ , Mister—do I even want to know how long it's been since you've eaten?"

"Quite recently, actually." Holmes looked sheepish, wishing he'd thought about Mrs. Hudson earlier, and sensing that he was soon to get the third degree over recent events, from Watson as well as Beth. His chagrined expression deepened as he remembered his rescue on the Channel – he'd never gotten the chance to send word to Johnstone from Baker Street, reassure the smuggler that he was all right. And now the man would be back in the past, most likely with no memory of him, or of Beth...

Beth arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Mm…"

Watson eyed his friend with sympathy—he had a feeling that he'd hardly have to nag Holmes about his weight in the future—then turned to Sally. "My dear, would you find Mrs. Hudson and ask her for some hot water?" Since the landlady hadn't come charging up the stairs in the last few minutes, demanding explanations, it seemed fairly safe to assume that she and most everyone else had lost all memory of their experiences beyond this point in Time... thank God!

"Sure." Sally left the room with Kathy, Watson behind her, and headed downstairs. Watson started, on instinct, to limp up the stairs to their room... and then realised... no more pain or stiffness, anywhere... He could move _freely_... He grinned— _Kathy!_ —and dashed upstairs.

Sally, meanwhile, had gotten as far as the downstairs hall when an alarming thought struck her. Oh, bloody hell... How on earth was she going to explain Kathy to Mrs. Hudson?! _Well... after John and Sherlock have gone would probably be a good time for you and Beth to tell her the truth – again!_ Of course, there was a whole lot more to the story this time around... She _really_ hoped the poor woman could handle it.

* * *

"Even though you're healed," Beth murmured to Sherlock as the Watsons left the room, "you don't look so good, honey."

Holmes nodded, squeezing her hand. "It's a long story, love. I'll explain when we get back, I promise." Much as he would have loved to stay, time was pressing on – and Lestrade was going to be suspicious enough on seeing how thin both his colleagues had gotten in the space of, apparently, half an hour!

She wound her arms around his too-thin waist and rested her head on his shoulder, taking a shuddering breath and nodding. She knew they had to get going, but still... "Okay. "

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, a lump in his throat. "I missed you, _cherie_ ," he whispered, nuzzling her, "so much..." God help him, he still didn't have the words...

Her breath hitched. "I didn't want... I was so..." _Scared_... She shook her head mutely, biting her lip back lest she break down sobbing: knowing in her last moments of life that she could do nothing to stay with him was the hardest thing she'd ever had to deal with.

"It's all right, love," he murmured huskily, stroking her hair. She was here now, in his arms once more, nothing else mattered...

Trembling, tears falling silently, she raised her head and kissed him, the touch and taste of his lips almost more precious than when she'd done so on the lakeside. _I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive... he's alive and we're together again..._

He kissed her back softly, tightening his arms around her, revelling in this blessed miracle, that he had his beloved back, he would never let her go ever again...

" _Mr. Holmes!_ " Husband and wife jumped as Mrs. Hudson's scandalised voice broke the spell, the landlady's sternly raised eyebrows all but hitting the top of the bedroom doorway. "What, pray, is the meaning of _this_?"

Eyes wide, Beth startled away from Sherlock and blushed, biting back the more-than-slightly hysterical giggles that suddenly threatened to erupt. She _had_ been wondering how Mrs. Hudson would take this...

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson..." Red-faced, Holmes gave the widow a sheepish but proud smile as Beth fought to contain her mirth. Saints preserve them, he'd forgotten he was still in nightshirt and dressing gown, not to mention with one sleeve stained crimson, and with Watson's medical bag sitting on the floor! He took Beth's hand in his again, leading her forwards. "Pray excuse us, I realise how this must appear... but Miss Smith..." squeezing Beth's hand, "has just done me the great honour of accepting me as her future husband."

Mrs. Hudson stared at the couple for a long moment, mouth open, before finally managing to stammer out, "Congratulations... my dears..." A stunned smile slowly spread across her face. "Ahem, I've brought the hot water." And without another word, turned and bustled back downstairs, doubtless intending to pump the new Mrs. Watson for every detail.

"Thank you, dear lady," Holmes beamed, overjoyed at the good woman's delighted reaction. _Did you really expect anything else, though?_ Once the landlady was out of earshot, he turned to Beth, who was grinning and shaking her head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but to her you were a single woman less than an hour ago."

She sighed and nodded. "I know, I know... "

His face fell as the thought came to its logical conclusion, ending ruefully, "Which means, sadly, we'll have to sleep apart until we have time to arrange an official ceremony."

Her face fell also—sleeping while wrapped up in her husband's arms had become important to her, and the thought of having to do without for any amount of time... "No... I don't... want to..." She wound her arms back around him. _I don't want to_ _ **be**_ _apart from you at all, ever again_...

Holmes hummed thoughtfully as he hugged her back. He didn't give a damn about the proprieties, either, but he also didn't fancy explaining to Mrs. Hudson that they had already gotten married without even a clergyman present. "Well, I've only been to a handful of weddings –" He grinned; "and that includes ours! But I believe these things can be arranged with a bare modicum of short notice. Perhaps you and Sally could consult Mrs. Hudson on the matter while Watson and I are at Aldgate." Including where to purchase bedroom furniture – his current bed really wasn't wide enough to sleep two people comfortably. He'd better give Beth his room and remove to the settee for the time being.

She nodded and murmured, "Okay…" She reluctantly pulled back again and ran a hand through her hair. "I should let you get going..."

He echoed her nod reluctantly and, stealing one last kiss, hastened into the bedroom for a quick wash and change, silently vowing to seize the very next chance for a proper bath that presented itself; the sponge bath that Mrs. Hudson had inflicted on him before finally letting him out of bed didn't count.

Beth sank listlessly to the sofa and grabbed a cushion, hugging it to her. She had been looking forward to an official wedding, but without fully thinking through the ramifications, and she hardly felt excited any longer.

* * *

 **Ria:** *cartwheels* We did it! Ahem... Still plenty of action to come, of course, especially with the original case back at the beginning. Has anyone figured out yet who Oberstein's accomplice is?

 **Sky:** YAAAY, EVERYBODY'S ALIVE AGAIN. Show of hands: who actually figured that one out? The basic premise of Time being frozen came straight from "The Wedding of River Song," and anything that happened during Frozen Time _then_ didn't stick.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!


	4. A Hand to Hold

**==Chapter 4==**

 **A Hand to Hold**

" _We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there."_  
―Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon

It felt marvellous to ride in a cab again, and once they were settled, Watson beamed at Holmes. "Well, my dear fellow, I do believe congratulations, however belated, are in order!"

Holmes blushed, murmuring with a shy smile, "Thank you..." Washed, dressed, and with a bite of breakfast snatched from under a bemused Mrs. Hudson's nose, the detective felt much more optimistic about getting through the morning's work ahead of them. He'd even remembered to bring his own revolver... After all, if Beth and Mycroft were back, then so was Moriarty and co., and he certainly wasn't about to let Watson or himself be caught off guard this time!

"The nerve, though," Watson tutted, eyes twinkling, "to travel unchaperoned with a young lady across Europe—it's positively scandalous." He could only imagine what a stir it would cause if the news were ever to get out.

Holmes laughed. "My dear fellow, you don't know the half of it! Our adventures would throw my first hiatus entirely into the shade." He could smile at some of those moments now, though they were few by comparison... _Come on, old chap, you have a case to solve, this really isn't the time... and Beth came back, didn't she, you_ _ **didn't**_ _lose her, not truly..._

Watson frowned slightly as Holmes's smile faded, able to guess where his friend's thoughts were turning. Poor Beth... "I should," he said tentatively, "like very much to hear more about them sometime... Particularly _how_ , exactly, you ended up _married_ to said young lady." He smiled ruefully. "That was not a development I saw coming."

"I shouldn't think anyone did," Holmes answered softly. "Myself least of all..." If he was honest with himself, he'd never imagined that _any_ woman could possess the kind of determined patience that Watson had frequently had to employ just as his flatmate, never mind anything else – but Beth had unequivocally proved him wrong.

Watson hesitated—it had been so long since they'd had a truly frank conversation—then mentally kicked himself. They _needed_ to have talks like this again, no matter how awkward; avoiding it was how things started to go wrong in the first place. "What changed?" he asked gently.

Holmes's blush deepened, looking down at his clasped hands. "I... I believe we both did..." He looked up again, searching for the right words: "Beth came to see me for who I was, instead of the character she'd grown up with... and... oh, Watson! Even when what she saw in me frightened her, she... she never turned away..." He closed his eyes as they began to prickle with tears; "but... for my part, I am ashamed to admit... it was only when I feared that she might leave me..."

Watson looked down himself—Beth would have been all that Holmes had left at that point. _He must have been terrified_. "Oh, Holmes..." He sighed and murmured, "Thank God she did not..."

The detective nodded earnestly, the lump in his throat back with a vengeance. "Although I still have difficulty comprehending why... After all that I had done to wound her..." voice turning awed, "to tell me that she _loved_ me... and without any idea of my feelings for her..." Beth's sheer courage in that moment still astounded him.

"Then she was terribly, terribly brave," Watson said softly, "braver than I, she and Sally both... I think our womenfolk are the real heroes, eh?"

Holmes nodded again, a tremulous but tender smile growing; it had already dawned on him that without the girls, neither he nor Watson would be sitting here now. "If... if I may ask, Watson..." He hesitated, but the question was burning inside of him: "What made you come back?"

Watson blinked in surprise. "...quite a lot of reasons, I suppose. Sally told me about the real broken Point, how it was as much my responsibility as yours." He forced himself to keep looking his friend in the eye. "And Nikola kept me updated on his conversations with Beth... what was happening between you two..." A lump began to form in his throat as he remembered the shock of receiving the note— _blood pounding in his ears, Holmes was horribly ill, Beth was_ _ **dead**_... "And... Mrs. Hudson's letter..." He cleared his throat. "She sent a letter when you were ill. She said... she said you were asking for me in your delirium... you wouldn't have any other doctor..." He blinked back sudden tears, recalling how ill Holmes had looked as a _convalescent_ not an hour ago.

"Merciful God..." Holmes murmured faintly, "then it was _I_..." He'd thought Nikola must have somehow located him while his mind was wandering with the fever. "And she never said a word!"

"I expect not to raise your hopes if I didn't come—she didn't know us then." Watson reddened as he recalled how he left 221B without saying so much as 'goodbye' to his beloved landlady. What had he been thinking? How bewildered and upset the poor woman must have been... _You called Holmes selfish, but you acted no better_.

"But still the same old mother hen, thank God." If the good woman hadn't taken pity on him...

"Amen," Watson said fervently. "I've never seen you look so ill."

"Well, Jones was no doctor," Holmes said grimly, shuddering at the memory. "He had to use a good many sedatives to get me back to England – I doubt he even thought to sterilise his needles."

Watson shivered and said gravely, "And he is by far not the only man to make that mistake." Needle sterilization at this point in history was only starting to make headway. He hesitated again, then ventured quietly, "I'm not certain about what happened... before that... but if you ever want to talk about it..." He didn't know how exactly Beth had died, but he knew that she had... and having lost Mary, he could certainly empathise with his friend if Holmes ever needed that.

Holmes nodded jerkily, hands still clasped together, the knuckles turning white as he tried to hold himself together. He'd never had enough time to himself to mourn Beth before she'd come back, and the emotions attached to _that_ memory still felt terribly raw. "Well, not that, exactly..." he whispered, blinking hard, "but, Watson, there is... something I feel I _should_ say to you... that I should have said a very long time ago..." And he'd waited far too long to say this, he reminded himself sternly – if the wound was too deep to heal, he would have to accept that.

Watson watched him in concern. "What is it?"

"About what I... what I had done to you in Switzerland..." Holmes's face twisted, tears finally escaping. "Watson, I'm _so_ sorry! I hadn't... hadn't let myself see before... just how deeply I had wounded you..."

Watson's eyes widened, taken aback. He took a moment to push away the bad memories, then murmured, "Oh, Holmes..." He laid a comforting hand on the detective's shoulder. "Knowing you as I think I do once again... I would say that you've already punished yourself more than enough for that." The man had wandered as an exile for _three years_ , unable to go home, hiding from a man who undoubtedly sought a savage revenge, and all alone...

"Nevertheless..." Holmes looked up again at Watson earnestly. "Watson, I am ashamed to admit... that my greatest fear was not that you would be hurt, or killed... but that _I_ would be hurt by losing you, for having been responsible for your death. I selfishly believed I could not live with that kind of pain... but even if that had been the truth..." and after losing Beth, he was more certain than ever that enduring such shattering loss for as long as Watson had _would_ have killed him... "I should never have forced you to bear that burden in my place, not even for a minute!"

Watson exhaled shakily. "My dear Holmes... please understand this... you are forgiven." He'd forgiven Holmes upon his return, and the forgiveness still held. "Always and completely."

Holmes sagged a little, the knot in his insides beginning to unravel at the audible sincerity in his friend's voice. He laid his hand over Watson's on his shoulder, leaning against him. Despite being healed, he still felt very tired; Vortex energy was sadly no substitute for sleep. "Thank you..."

Watson pulled Holmes closer and rubbed his back comfortingly. Poor Holmes—he still must be pretty done in, emotionally as well as physically. "You are very welcome, dear friend," he smiled.

Holmes smiled back wearily, grateful for the hug. "And now that I think of it... Watson, you once asked a favour of me, not long before we went home... and I should be most grateful if you would return the favour in the near future." Hopefully, the Doctor wouldn't be offended at not being asked to act as celebrant this time.

Watson frowned in thought, and then his eyes widened in realisation, and he smiled. "My dear Holmes, I would be only too glad." He'd simply given up hope years ago of ever having the privilege. "The wedding wasn't very official, eh?"

Holmes shook his head, chuckling. "Well, given the circumstances... Thank you, Watson," he said quietly, his friend's delight at the request suddenly feeling like coals of fire on his forehead. He had a hard time understanding now why he'd objected so strongly to the Watsons' wedding; he could only be thankful that Sally also appeared to be quite happy that he and her husband had reconciled. "And if Mrs... if Sally would not object to being Matron of Honour?" No doubt Beth would already have asked her friend, but he still felt as if he should inquire.

Watson smiled warmly. "I'm quite sure she would not. Do you have any idea of when the ceremony will be?"

"No precise idea, I'm afraid. Like everything else, it greatly depends upon the conclusion of this case." Certainly not before tomorrow, with a full day's inquiries to go through all over again, and one extra visit to make, besides; Whitehall would have to be their very next stop after the station.

Nodding, Watson glanced out the window. "Speaking of which, I think we've almost arrived."

"So we have." Holmes turned from the window as the cab slowed, giving Watson a faint grin. "Time to go and rewrite History, I suppose." A rather daunting prospect, now that he actually thought about it; whatever faith the others might have in him, he still had no way of knowing for certain if he'd missed something vital the first time around before his night visit to Oberstein's lodgings.

Watson's smile grew, feeling the old excitement at the start of a new case—and profound gratitude that this part of their lives would continue on. "And I should want to do it with no-one else."

Holmes clasped his friend's shoulder speakingly, unable to express in words how very glad he was to have his Boswell back. "Nor should I, Watson."

Watson briefly gripped both Holmes's shoulders, almost overcome with emotion, then let go as the cab rolled to a halt. He had his best friend back, and his life, and he couldn't be happier.

Holmes got out and paid the driver, and Watson stepped out after him. He stretched and tilted his head back in pleasure, reveling in the sensation of undamaged limbs for the first time in fifteen years.

Holmes grinned appreciatively as he noticed. Despite being so dreadfully thin, Watson suddenly looked to the detective's eyes quite twenty years younger: the way Holmes had always felt his friend ought to have looked on their fateful first meeting.

Watson saw Holmes's grin and returned it. "Whatever my daughter did, Holmes, it healed more than my recent injuries..." He grinned wider and proffered his arm. "Shall we?"

"By all means, my dear fellow." Walking into the station arm in arm, Holmes suddenly had to suppress a snicker, suspicions confirmed: Lestrade's face had become a study in bewilderment as they drew nearer. "Good day, Inspector. I hope we've not kept you waiting?"

* * *

To gasp for breath, knowing that a moment ago you were dead, was a new sensation for James Moriarty. He had only enough time to see that he was sitting at his own desk in his own study before the pain hit him with all the force of a tidal wave. He cried out and gripped his head in both hands. Time ran wild and unhindered through his mind once more, too much too suddenly... _Watson, Holmes, Baker Street, the joy of reunited friends, Time itself singing in ecstatic triumph_...

Gathering the scattered shreds of his strength, he managed to raise his mental shields enough to block it out until he was ready to revisit it. He'd... failed...

"...Professor?!" To the pale and shaken Moran, the shock of returning to life was nothing compared to finding himself back here before the desk, staring into the ashen face of his general.

Moriarty lowered his hands and stared at Moran in surprise, taking long, slow breaths to regain his composure. Not only had everyone been returned to life and Time unfrozen, but they were also back to the morning that the TARDIS returned to Baker Street. "Colonel..."

Moran's face turned red as he remembered his last moments at the chalet. "Sir, I..." How the devil was he going to explain what had happened?

Moriarty raised a hand, shaking his head slowly. He had a hunch about Moran's death, and in any case, that could wait. "I'm glad to have you back, Colonel." He massaged his temples, feeling a raging headache coming on—one of the very few but serious problems with being psychic.

Moran stared, questions beginning to pile up rapidly and unsure of what to ask first. "Forgive my saying so, Professor, but... you don't look so well."

"Yes, well," Moriarty said quietly, wryly, "Reality is playing havoc with my head—and as I'm certain you are aware, being shot hardly benefits one's health."

The Colonel's eyes widened, thunderstruck. "Who...?!" Then his face darkened, now looking downright murderous, he could guess who it had been... and to think he'd actually once offered to let the cur walk free!

Moriarty gave a soft, brief chuckle; Moran's devotion, in the midst of rebellion, had always been one of his most commendable qualities. "Calm yourself, Colonel—I did shoot first, and in any case, it seems not to have lasted."

Moran nodded slowly, taking in his surroundings. "So we're back to where it all started." Holmes and Watson had to have worked out their differences... and thank God, the girl must be alive again as well. It was too bad about Mycroft, of course, but you couldn't have everything – somehow he doubted Moriarty would want the man eliminated a second time under the circumstances.

Moriarty's expression darkened, clenching a fist. "Yes…" The knowledge that he had ultimately failed tasted like ash in his mouth. He attempted to console himself with the thought that Frozen Time might well have proven to be too much to control properly, and at least now both his right hand and his potential apprentice were alive once more. On the other hand, he was dying once again... "Colonel," he said slowly, "I believe I require the aid of the Doctor."

Moran's brow furrowed for a moment before realising _which_ Doctor the Professor was talking about, and his frown deepened; he'd heard plenty about the Time Lord from both Moriarty and the other Torchwood employees. In his opinion, mad and homicidal aliens – who waged war on other planets from inside _invincible metal shells_ – calling any enemy 'The Oncoming Storm' was grounds for being extremely wary!

Moriarty smiled tightly, reading the essence of Moran's thoughts. "There is really nothing else for it—I have exhausted all other resources."

And the last time Moriarty had used his supposed last recourse, it hadn't ended so well... Moran refrained from saying so, however – he wasn't inclined to commit suicide again after being forgiven his abysmal failure, however conditionally.

"I do not intend to take such a measure without the proper precautions. We need the girl as leverage against the Time Lord—he'll not risk any harm coming to her, especially now."

Moran nodded slowly, unconvinced. "Forgive my presumption, Professor... but I must insist on your having an armed escort." His blood was still boiling at the thought of his commander getting shot without his being there to protect him – if Jones hadn't let Holmes slip through his fingers... "You've said it yourself, sir: the Doctor's never more dangerous than when he's cornered."

The Professor shook his head. "Moran, I have no intention of leaving Torchwood at this time, and as long as I remain within the building, I trust that my safety is in good hands."

"Yes, sir." The Colonel decided to keep the rest of his misgivings to himself for the moment, although the Doctor being a guest of Torchwood still seemed to him the equivalent of throwing a match into a powder keg.

Moriarty sighed. "Please understand, I am no happier about this last resort than you yourself are, but there is truly no more that I can do to mend my… unique… condition..."

"Well, what about that machine of Tesla's you had shipped back here? Didn't any of the scientists work out how to replicate whatever he did?"

Moriarty shook his head again. "Unfortunately, Tesla's genius far outstrips that of any of our scientists…" Tesla's mind was... unique... _Oh, yes_... if the _Doctor_ could fix the machine... if he had the Doctor in his grasp... perhaps he could do far more than reverse his aging.

Moran's eyes narrowed, the hair rising on the back of his neck – he'd seen _that_ look before... "Sir?"

"Forgive me, Colonel," Moriarty mused, "but consider this… If we can hold the Doctor here and persuade him to fix the machine… perhaps it could accomplish far more than the solution to my dilemma."

"Such as?" Moran's face was a mix of emotions, skepticism at the head of the queue.

Moriarty smiled a slight, dry smile. "I warn you that you shall think it mad." In fact, he was fully expecting an outburst.

Moran nodded in resignation, he'd been afraid of that.

Moriarty suppressed a somewhat fonder smile. "The machine is meant to produce fundamental changes in the body… and there is no reason why it cannot also change the genetic matter of the user if one has a sample of another's genetic matter to hand."

"Sir!" The Colonel's eyes bulged, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. "You can't mean...!" As if the Professor being... _mutated_ by Rift energy wasn't bad enough, now he wanted to change species?!

"Do you disapprove of the notion, Colonel?" Moriarty settled back in his chair for the coming storm. "You may speak freely."

"Much obliged! No offense, Professor, but have you gone stark raving mad?! Why not just send someone after Tesla, bring _him_ back to London to fix the machine?"

"Unfortunately, I have not so great a knowledge of Tesla's personality and weaknesses." Torchwood did not owe its existence to the Doctor for nothing; Moriarty had made a long and thorough study of the Time Lord over the years. When it came to Tesla, however, he knew precious little by comparison. " _And_ I am operating on an extremely limited timetable." Some dates were Fixed Points; some were very close, and sometimes, one could not distinguish between what was merely an Important Day and what was Fixed. So it was with the following day—the apparently appointed time for Moriarty's death. He didn't know the details; he merely knew the date.

Moran exhaled heavily through his nose; he knew from long experience that there was nothing to be said once the Professor was fixated on any objective. "Where is the Doctor now?"

Moriarty couldn't quite suppress a wince as he 'searched' for the Doctor—extending his consciousness right now hurt. "At Niagara Falls," he said in surprise, eyebrows lifting. The Doctor had gone to Tesla? He brushed right along the very edge of Tesla's luminous consciousness and retreated before the man could notice. "Curious..."

"What is it?"

Moriarty frowned. "Why would the Doctor make a detour to Niagara _before_ returning to his Companions?" Surely the Time Lord would be desperate to see his children again, for his own comfort as well as ensuring their well-being.

Moran raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "Maybe he's picking up a couple more passengers? We might not need to go chasing Tesla over the Atlantic after all."

Irritation crept into the Professor's voice. "Colonel, securing Tesla is _not_ my object—securing the Doctor _is_. I think I need hardly remind you of Holmes's persistent persecution in the spring of '91. Now imagine an enemy every bit as determined and infinitely more dangerous—and given that the Doctor knows of my existence and soon my location, do you think he will allow me to continue my work in peace?"

The Colonel sighed. "No, sir, I don't. But I won't pretend to like this new scheme of yours, either." And Moran had no sooner said that than he regretted it. There was no knowing whom a _Time Lord_ criminal mastermind might consider expendable – even trusted lieutenants who had formerly been privileged to voice any misgivings over their master's plans...

O ye of little faith—did Moriarty's own right hand no longer trust his judgement? "Then my apologies, Colonel," he said, voice hard, "but I have no wish to die, nor do I wish to have my work come to nothing."

* * *

Back in his old workshop, slumped in a battered armchair, Nikola stirred his mug of tea absently with a screwdriver handle, the faint thunder of the nearby falls like music to his ears while he waited for George. His friend had sent him a frantic call from the power station, then once the telepath assured him that he was in no danger, raced off to the telegraph office to send an urgent message to his family in Pittsburgh. Nikola had considered telling George that most likely his wife and son wouldn't even remember anything about Frozen Time, and that a cable in the middle of the night was guaranteed to alarm them needlessly, but he was fairly confident that the telegraph operator's confusion and annoyance at being woken at this hour would be just as persuasive. Besides, it gave Nikola a little more time on his own to collect himself after all the psychic upheaval of being dumped backwards in Time and Space...

" _Sally, quick, take Kathy!"_

" _Nikola...!"_

" _...my God..."_ Then reappearing in the storehouse, slumped back over his workbench, head aching fiercely, but with one thought ringing through the chaos, helping to anchor him: _We did it..._ and then the overwhelming relief he'd felt on sensing Beth's water-bright mind back in the world again, however far away...

 _Forgive me, Sally... I_ _ **couldn't**_ _tell you!_ His own grief had been too deep, too much... It had been hard enough to keep shielding Kathy when her parents finally did learn the truth, the little one hadn't needed to share their pain, not then, not when there was still a chance... Thank God for Mrs. Hudson. He _had_ tried to locate Holmes once the shock had subsided, going into the deepest trance he'd ever attempted, scouring the ether, hour after hour, exhausting himself almost to the point of no return...

 _VWOOORP... VWOOOOORP..._

Nikola gasped and jumped to his feet, staring around in excitement. _George! George, the TARDIS!_ His eye was caught at last by the ship starting to appear in a corner of the workshop, but so slowly... _Come on, sweetheart, come on, you can do it!_ Finally, she landed, the _thump_ as she became solid far heavier than usual – poor thing, she must be exhausted! And no wonder, if her battered exterior was any clue as to what she'd been through.

 _Doctor?_ Nikola approached the door cautiously – why wasn't it opening, where was the Doctor? The telepath reached out tentatively and laid his hand on the door, although half expecting the ship to lash back out like she had in the Rift. The TARDIS seemed to shiver, but then inched her door open; a tendril of her consciousness reached out to brush apologetically against his mind for a moment before drawing him in.

Nikola let out a relieved breath, hastening inside. The lights were dim in the control room, but there was clearly no sign of the Doctor, and the TARDIS was radiating concern. "Where is he, _draga_?"

She twittered mournfully, drawing him down the corridor. He followed her lead, trying to ignore his persistent sinking feeling – the ship wouldn't have come to him for help if she hadn't known that he could. "Are _you_ all right, sweetheart?"

The TARDIS gave him her impression of a sigh and shrug: _I'll live._

Nikola smiled proudly, then sobered. "How long has he been like this?"

Instead of answering his spoken question, she answered the one he hadn't even wanted to: everything that had happened after he and the Doctor had been blasted apart... Nikola watched in horror as it was made entirely clear to him just what kind of a monster he had been spared facing – for now. "Dear God... the _poor_ man..." He placed a comforting hand on the wall of the corridor, knowing that the ship must have suffered right along with her thief. She nudged him forward again, twittering urgently, and he pulled himself together. "Yes, of course – I'm sorry."

He reached what seemed to be the right door, which slid open as he approached to reveal a bare white room, completely empty, except for the huddled figure on the floor. "Doctor!" The Time Lord was curled up in a fetal position, face pale and haggard, his right hand still streaked with dried blood, and breathing so slowly that for a moment it almost looked as if he weren't breathing at all. Nikola knelt beside the Doctor, careful not to touch him just yet, and sent out a gentle call: _Doctor? Can you hear me?_

No answer came back, except for more encouraging noises from the TARDIS.

Nikola took a deep breath. "All right..." He placed his hands on the Doctor's temples, making the psychic equivalent of a knock, and mercifully the Doctor's mental shields opened immediately in response, allowing the telepath to enter... only to find himself back in the control room. What on earth was he doing here, had the TARDIS...? And then he realised that he was looking at the room from a very different angle, the console almost at eye level; he was in child form again.

"Interesting..." Hm, his voice didn't seem to have changed – but then again, how would he know? Oh well. "Doctor?"

This time, faint echoes came back, a multitude of different voices, all of them familiar: the voices of the Doctor's different incarnations, he remembered them so well... except... oh no... they weren't all there, all of the Time Lord's _future_ voices were missing... and so was Ten's.

"Oh, Doctor... what have you done?" Nikola concentrated hard, extending his senses out as far as he could. Beyond the hum of the TARDIS and the murmuring voices, he could hear a soft, steady _thump-thump_... _thump-thump_... It took him a few moments to realise what the sound was: a heartbeat. But... the Doctor had two hearts... didn't he?

Following the sound through the corridors, Nikola eventually stopped in front of a door that looked just like all the others, and knocked softly. "Hello?"

* * *

John Smith jumped—he hadn't heard a non-Doctor voice since he'd died. He opened the observatory door slowly and peered around the edge. Where was—oh. Down. A little boy? "Oh, hello." He opened the door all the way and frowned in thought: where had he seen this boy before? "I know you, don't I?"

"...Doctor?" The man certainly looked like the Time Lord to Nikola, but dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and slacks instead of the usual suit and trenchcoat, and his hair was neatly groomed and parted to the right. He seemed vaguely familiar, too, in a way that had nothing to do with his features...

John smiled ruefully. "Not quite." He beckoned the little boy inside, then snapped his fingers as it came to him. "I've got it—you're Nikola Tesla! Age..." he tilted his head, trying to recall more of the memory, one of the many that he'd dreamed during his short lifetime; "reversed. Hm, that's odd."

Nikola walked into the observatory, looking around with interest. "So who are you, then?"

John studied the little boy with undisguised curiosity. "My name is John Smith—I'm… the Doctor as a human, basically. Sort of. Well, he transformed himself into a human to hide from a psychopathic alien family and the result was me."

"Oh." Suddenly remembering his manners, Nikola extended a hand, smiling. "Pleased to meet you, John Smith."

John smiled back, thrilled, and shook the boy's hand. No, inventor's—it was clear that the Doctor was unconsciously projecting a younger age onto an adult mind. "Oh, it's brilliant meeting _you_ , sir. That is, meeting you properly."

"Nikola, please. Can you help me find the Doctor? I think he's in hiding." And after what the TARDIS had shown him, the telepath couldn't blame the Time Lord in the least.

John's smile faded. "He's in here," he murmured, tapping his head. "He chose me to be his—what, avatar?—because I'm not psychic. I can't feel... what he was feeling... And he just buried himself way deep inside me."

Nikola nodded gravely. "You're fortunate, John, believe me. What Moriarty did to him..." He could still hear the Doctor screaming in anguish...

John echoed Nikola's shudder, remembering well how _dead_ Ten had looked, and shook his head. "The Doctor wouldn't've done... this... for anything less. A double self-induced coma... one last desperate act against taking his own life. I guess that's..." Then it hit him. "...wait, _you're here_. How are you here?" His eyes widened. "Is Time back to normal? Did we land?"

"My workshop at Niagara," Nikola smiled. "Time isn't just flowing again, it's been reset."

John grinned. "That's brilliant! That's fantastic! The TARDIS must have landed us here so that you could help the Doctor!"

Nikola nodded again, sobering. "If he'll allow me." He hadn't expected the Doctor to put up such a multi-layered defence – would he even want to come back?

Aaand here it came... "I can help with that." John pulled his fob watch out of his pocket—God, he hated the sight of this thing now. "It's a sort of safeguard built into my avatar, since we share the same body. This... this will bring the Doctor back." He looked down. "And I'll return to my place among the voices."

The wistfulness in the man's voice made Nikola's heart ache; ignoring the watch for the moment, he moved forward and hugged him around the waist. "Thank you, John."

Touched, John leaned down and hugged Nikola Tesla tightly back. "It's been," he said hoarsely, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, "really _nice_... to see a real person again." He did his best to smile ruefully. "It's not easy being dead."

Nikola couldn't even imagine... He looked up at the human Doctor, smiling back warmly. "But not forgotten, John – never." He let go and accepted the watch, his sixth sense suddenly prompting him to add, "You're a lot braver than him, you know..." He looked down at the watch, smile turning sad. "And I think he knows that, too."

John blinked back tears and covered his mouth for a few seconds, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. He didn't feel very brave—he hadn't wanted any part of this in the first place and he didn't want to end it now. "Would you..." He cleared his throat, his voice still rough. "Could you give... give my love to Beth?" There had been a few rays of sunshine amongst all the students he'd had to teach, and Beth had been the brightest, not to mention the kindest. He remembered thinking that the girl who protected others from the bullies had no one to protect her when she was down, and that the world would _hurt_ her.

Beth... Of course, he _had_ seen John Smith before! In Beth's thoughts when they'd first met, the name he'd given Kelly must have stirred the memory... Nikola nodded solemnly, holding the watch in both hands, waiting until John was ready.

John squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. "Please just get it over with," he whispered.

"Goodnight, John," Nikola said softly, and opened the watch. "Sleep well." John gasped and crumpled to the floor, golden light flickering through him... and when it disappeared, the Doctor looked like his old self again, clothes and all, though still unconscious, and the watch's face was now glowing instead.

Nikola closed the lid and bent over the Doctor, tucking the watch into his inside coat pocket. "Oh, Doctor," he murmured sadly, gathered the Time Lord into his lap, his strength still that of an adult, and began to hum the old Serbian lullaby, rocking him gently. _It's time to wake, my friend... Don't be afraid... You're safe..._

* * *

...the Doctor gradually became aware of the sound of a familiar voice, humming a familiar tune, and growing clearer every second. He shuddered and slowly opened his eyes, afraid that he was only dreaming, hallucinating... "Nikola?" he whispered hoarsely.

The telepath smiled kindly down at him. "I'm here, Doctor – it's all right."

The Doctor startled fully awake, his subconscious completely absorbing John's memory of the past few minutes. "You're here! You're all right— _Time's_ all right!" Then he cried out at a sudden, painful flash of memory from his conversation with Moriarty—" _farewell, Valeyard, think on your sins"_ —and feebly pushed it away, moaning softly, feeling weak and dazed. "Is everybody okay?"

"As far as I can make out from here," Nikola answered, frowning in concern. "I never imagined our locations would be reset as well as Time!"

The Doctor slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. " _Reality_ reset—so you were returned to your previous reality in Time _and_ Space."

Nikola kept his arm around the Doctor's shoulders as he sat up, supporting him. "How much _do_ you know about what's happened?" Moriarty's projection aside, he had no idea how much of an actual Time Lord's psychic powers would be affected by Time freezing.

The Doctor shook his head. "Nothing. Not since… since we last spoke… and that feels like minutes ago…" He shuddered again, the memory of Moriarty's cruel voice still whispering around the edges of his consciousness.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor," Nikola murmured, tightening his hold. "The TARDIS, she showed me..."

The Doctor shuddered again. "I couldn't... I couldn't..." Alone with only the TARDIS and his guilt for an indeterminate amount of time... he wouldn't have made it. He realised that he'd been clutching at Nikola's shirt and let go, averting his gaze. "I ran and hid..."

Nikola shook his head gently. "It's _all right_ , Doctor, I do understand. Even John Smith couldn't blame you."

The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he hadn't had to use any past self at all like that, let alone his poor human self who'd barely lived at all. He cleared his throat, eyes still closed, voice still rough to his own ears. "How… how long did it last?"

"Well, it was hard to be certain without working clocks..." Nikola said innocently, then grinned; "but the nine month mark was fairly clear."

The Doctor's eyes snapped wide open. " _Katherine_?" he choked. "Did Sally have...?"

Nikola blinked. How did the Doctor know her name, had they met before?

Stretching his consciousness just slightly, the Doctor could feel the brightness of the other Time Lord, the very same dazzling brightness he'd felt in 1945... He laughed disbelievingly. "She did!" And then he noticed Nikola's confused look. "Oh, sorry, timeline got a bit wonky a while back and the boys and I met Katherine in the future, all grown up! She was _brilliant_ —and now she's actually been born!"

Nikola smiled and nodded, greatly relieved to see the Doctor starting to look his old self again. "Then you know?" Poor child; at least Nikola hadn't been forced to spend his entire life hiding his abilities.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and nodded. "She made that clear in a _very_ big way." His bright expression—and mood—faltered. "Nikola... what _is_ the last you knew of... everybody? The Watsons, Holmes, Beth...?"

Nikola bit his lip – this was the part he'd been dreading the most – then sighed. "There is a lot to tell you, Doctor, and... I'm so sorry... but what Moriarty showed you... some of it did come to pass before things were set right again."

The Doctor paled, trembling. "What... what happened?"

Nikola took a deep breath. "All right... and please, bear in mind that most of this is from second-hand accounts – my psychic abilities went dormant when Time froze, I didn't have much more than limited telepathy. Shortly after you left everyone at Baker Street, Holmes's brother arrived with a new case..."

* * *

"...but because I'd never spoken with Holmes telepathically while you were visiting Niagara, I couldn't tell what was happening to him... until a few days later, when a letter arrived from Mrs. Hudson at Baker Street."

The Doctor stared down at his hands, folded in his lap. He was still shaken at the thought of Beth dying—she was too brilliant, too brave, too full of life... "And?" he murmured.

"She wrote that she'd been nursing a man of Holmes's description through a fever, who was asking for a Dr. Watson, and did anyone at Rosewood know where he was?" Nikola grinned proudly. "Watson didn't even wait to pack!"

"So that's how it all worked out," the Doctor said softly. He kept his eyes on his hands. "What a mess…" If only he'd put a little more effort, owned a little more responsibility, this entire thing might not have happened!

Nikola sighed deeply. "Doctor... please tell me you don't think this is all your fault." He was starting to wonder if he could learn to filter out specific emotions, namely guilt.

The Doctor looked up for a moment, then looked back down. "Maybe I wasn't responsible for _all_ of it… but I wasn't as responsible as I could have been."

"Maybe so, Doctor – but just remember, we all made choices along the way, some well-intentioned, some not..." Nikola had yet to overcome his own regrets for not using his gift better before all choice in the matter was gone.

The Doctor said nothing more for a few seconds, focusing simply on his breathing, trying to centre himself. Then, slowly, softly: "Do you… would you… like to come back with me?"

Nikola nodded at once, he'd been hoping the Doctor would ask. "Please. We need to wait for George, though – he's probably still trying to break into the telegraph office."

 _Nikola! Doctor!_

Ah. "Or not."

The Doctor blinked, also hearing the familiar voice and the concern in it. Poor George. "You… have probably been in here a little while. Sorry," he added sheepishly.

Nikola shook his head, smiling encouragingly. "Well, Doctor?"

The Doctor sighed, shivered slightly, and nodded, standing slowly. _Don't be a coward now; you have a lot of apologies to make_. He looked at Nikola for a moment, adult's mind but child's body, the innocent young face he'd grown to love so quickly, and gave a small, rueful smile. "You know… you were cute as a kid. I wish I could have gotten to know that version of you better."

Standing with the Doctor, Nikola gave him an apologetic shrug; still, given that he'd taken this shape in the Doctor's subconscious, he had a notion that the Time Lord would be seeing him around occasionally. He took the Doctor's hand and walked with him to the door. "So how do we leave again? Out the front door?"

The Doctor blushed, suddenly embarrassed by the _complexity_ of his retreat from reality. "If it helps…. Just cut off from me; I can wake up from here."

Nikola nodded, let go of the Doctor's hand and left the observatory, following the corridors back to the control room. The telepath smiled on hearing a familiar voice back among the rest of the chorus, walked out of the front door into bright light... and found himself back in the white room, hands still on the Doctor's temples, knees now aching from the hard floor.

The Doctor propelled his mind back towards consciousness, eyes fluttering open blearily after a moment. Ouch, the whiteness and the pure light of the Zero Room hurt. Ah, thank goodness there was Nikola's very much not-pure-white face to focus on. "Hey."

Nikola opened his mouth, then was startled by a hand gripping his shoulder: George, crouched on the other side of the Doctor, the anxiety in his face quickly being replaced by exasperation. "For God's sake, Nikola, when are you going to start _telling me_ before doing this sort of thing?!"

The telepath gave him a sheepish grin, then turned to the Doctor. "How are you feeling?"

The Doctor grunted as he slowly sat up. "Sluggish. Achy… ow!" He arched his back and rubbed it gingerly—blimey, he felt like an old man. Then he looked up at George with a pained grin. "Hi."

George's frown melted into a beam, wrapping his arms around the shaken Time Lord, careful not crush him like he had Watson. "Welcome back."

The Doctor gladly returned the hug, relishing the contact and the affection behind it. George Westinghouse was a treasure. "It's good to see you again."

"You too, Doctor." George couldn't resist joking, "Things just haven't been the same without you!"

The Doctor grimaced. "Yes, well…" He rose slowly to his feet, wincing as various complaints in muscles all over his body made themselves heard. "Wanna go back with Nikola and me?"

George's eyes lit up. "Is that a trick question?"

The Doctor smiled, his spirits lifting in unadulterated joy. "I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

 **Ria:** As if we were just going to leave Nikola and George stuck in Niagara! And I'm so glad we've got the Doctor back again, we hated torturing him like that.

 **Sky:** Yeah... and poor John Smith. *hugs him and the Doctor*

Happy New Year, everybody!


	5. Lines Redrawn

**==Chapter 5==**

 **Lines Redrawn**

 _"The world is made up not only of what is but of what might be."_

— C.S. Lewis, Perelandra

Sally let out a long breath as the door closed behind John and Sherlock, her husband only stopping for a quick kiss on his way out, finally letting herself relax; she'd been kept so busy with everything going on, she'd barely even had time to give Beth a hug when she came back up from the kitchen. Kathy was upstairs now, fast asleep in the spare washing basket Mrs. Hudson had donated until they could get a proper bed for her. The poor woman was still looking rather dazed, and Sally was quite happy to put off the explanations a little while longer until she and Beth had had a chance to talk.

She climbed the stairs again quietly, resisting the urge to go up and check on the baby one more time – it had only been half an hour since Time was reset, for God's sake! After everything that had just happened, she couldn't help feeling nervous about letting Kathy out of her sight, even if she was technically only one room away.

As Sally walked into the sitting room, Beth took one look at her and realised that the older girl probably needed some comfort as much as she did. She went over and hugged Sally tightly, telling her wordlessly how much she'd missed her. There were so many times on the Continent that Beth had ached to confide in her best friend, longed for her embrace, her soothing presence... Sally had held her together; being separated from her even for that short time had been torture, a hole in her life that even her odd honeymoon with Sherlock couldn't quite fill.

Sally hugged her back just as tightly, a lump in her throat. "I'm so glad you're okay..." she said hoarsely, then hesitated. She didn't know just how _it_ had happened – she wasn't even sure she wanted to – but she very much doubted anyone _could_ be okay, coming back again with a memory like that!

Beth rested her head on Sally's shoulder, feeling _home_ again after having been adrift for too long. "Me, too," she murmured. Then she had a thought, and pulled back to face her friend. "Did you know? About... me?"

Sally shook her head, eyes glistening. "Nikola wouldn't... he never said... and then..." She choked back a sob. "Then Mrs. Hudson's letter..." The hope that John reuniting with Sherlock might just bring her friend back was the only reason she could let him leave again.

Beth's heart ached as she watched Sally, knowing exactly how she must have felt... Then Beth frowned. "Mrs. Hudson's letter?"

Sally sniffed and nodded. "You'll have to get the details off Sherlock... but she wrote to us, said she'd been looking after him while he was ill... he must have let slip where we were... and..." She really didn't want to tell Beth the rest, that poor Sherlock had been raving about 'his late wife'... She took out her handkerchief and blew her nose. "I'm sorry..." Beth was the one who had actually _died_ , she didn't need her friend getting all weepy right now!

Beth was starting to tear up, herself, horrified—poor Sherlock... and poor Sally! "Hey, shh, it's okay." She wrapped her arms around the older girl again; she knew exactly what it was like to lose a friend, and not even have the chance at a last goodbye. "I've missed you," she murmured, fighting against the lump rising in her throat, "so much..."

Sally hugged her back hard, whispering, "I missed you, too!" She took a deep breath, trying to collect herself, then gave a sudden sobbing laugh through her tears as the realisation fully sank in: "And I can't _believe_ you two actually got _married!_ "

Beth giggled, eyes widening. "I know, right?! Believe me, no one could have been more surprised than us!" Considering that the conversation had literally gone from fight to confession to kiss to proposal to vows... "It was crazy."

Sally's eyes danced, pulling Beth over to the couch and laughing, "All right, that's it! Sit down, you're telling me everything!"

Beth laughed and shook her head. "Oh my gosh, I don't know where to start! Wait, yes, I do. _You_ still get to be my Matron of Honour."

Sally's hand went to her mouth. _Oh my God..._ "I'd love to..." she murmured huskily, tears springing to her eyes for a very different reason.

Beth looked at Sally in concern—were those happy tears? She thought they probably were, but still... "Sally?"

Sally shook her head, wiping her eyes. "I just... never thought I'd get to do this..." Kathy had gotten married without her, and she'd never imagined that Sherlock could unbend enough even to fall in love with Beth... and then Beth dying... She blew her nose again, giving her friend a watery smile. "Thank you..."

Beth hugged her again, and gave her a heartfelt "You're very welcome. I mean..." Her eyes danced with mischief. "...it wasn't the most... _legal_ wedding ever..."

Sally giggled. "Common law marriage, huh?" It would have been stupid of them to leave a paper trail while on the run. She cast her mind back to what she knew about Victorian era weddings, which wasn't much more than what she'd read in 'A Scandal in Bohemia'. "Right... well, at the very least you're going to need a license!" Ticking things off on her fingers: "Rings, a wedding dress – okay, maybe not the dress, not unless you want to... Oh, and the church! Are there any around here?"

"Dress, very much so." Beth nodded, not about to pass up the chance to wear a gorgeous Victorian wedding gown. "Churches, definitely quite a few, practically in throwing distance from here, and I doubt their locations have changed with Time being reset." She sighed. "Honestly, I know I shouldn't rush it, but I want it to happen as soon as possible. I hate it that I'm going to have to... act not married."

"Yeah, Mrs. Hudson'll probably be playing chaperone for a little bit... Ooh, that's a point!" Sally frowned as a major obstacle put its hand up. "When _are_ you going to have time?" There was the break-in tonight, of course, but she couldn't remember much about what was supposed to happen tomorrow...

Beth shook her head. "Not sure." After everything that had happened in the last nine to ten months, there wasn't much from the canon stories she _could_ be sure of anymore. " _Possibly_ sometime this weekend. I hope." She smiled sheepishly.

Sally beamed back, eyes shining with excitement. "Well, I guess we'd better go talk to Mrs. Hudson, bring her up to speed!" Maybe even talk her into doing a wedding cake... with help, of course.

Beth's eyes widened in realisation, guilt creeping up behind it. "Oh! She's not the only one! The Irregulars!" Had they known, too? In any case, she needed to see them, especially Will.

"Oh my God, yes!" Sally took a quick, calming breath, starting to feel pulled in several different directions again. "Right, okay, they're next."

Beth hesitated, recognising her friend's stressed look. "Why don't... how about you go find Mrs. Hudson, and I'll go find the boys?" She kind of wanted to see them on her own, anyway. "I... I've really missed them, too."

Sally nodded, smiling. "Yeah, sounds like a plan." Those poor kids, they must have been going out of their minds when everything rewound!

Beth was strongly reminded of how she and Sally came to be best friends in the first place: Sally was, herself, a good friend—the best one could ask for. "Thank you." Beth threw her arms around the older girl again, kissed her cheek, and jumped up and took off down the stairs for the back door.

* * *

Beth stepped outside into blessed daylight and looked around, calling, "Hey, guys? Anybody around?"

There was a patter of running footsteps, and Jimmy and Nat pelted out of the fog, grinning in delight. "Beth!" They flung themselves at her, almost knocking her over. "Yer back, yer all roight!"

She laughed and hugged them both tightly, cherishing the warmth and affection she'd missed so much before. More than once, she'd been afraid that she'd never see them again… and then there had been the time that she knew she wouldn't. "Yeah, I'm back. Everybody's back." She squeezed them, then pulled back a bit. "Where're the others?"

"Will an' Charlie ain't far be'ind," said Nat, "an' the others are gatherin' at the yard…"

"But we carn' fin' George an' Nikola!" said Jimmy. "They disappeared when we did, an' we ain' seen neither of 'em since we got back!"

Beth took a deep breath. "Time got set back on track; that means we all went back to where we were when it froze. For Nikola and George—" she blinked back tears; what if the Doctor still took her home, and she never saw them again?—"that's Niagara." Both boys' faces fell, and she wished she could say something to comfort them.

But then Will and Charlie emerged from the fog, Will's face grim but his eyes full of guilt and relief. Beth rose slowly from the other boys, not quite meeting Will's eyes, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He'd argued that she'd get herself killed, and she _had_ …

He came forward and then his arms were around her, and she was hugging him tightly back, her breath hitching. Will was like a brother to her, more than any other Irregular, and she had _missed_ him… He patted her on the back—rather awkwardly, she thought—and murmured, "'Ere now, ol' girl, don' take on. Yew're all roight…"

Oh, if only he knew…

But Beth's self-recrimination was cut short by a sound she hadn't heard in almost a year… Heart soaring, she whirled around to see the source of the sharp, wheezing groans. "Doctor!" She'd watched the TARDIS disappear, once, when she had first left it. She'd never seen it _materialise_ , though, and it was magnificent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boys stare—even everything they'd seen thus far could surely not have prepared them for this.

"Cor bleedin' blimey!" Will breathed.

The TARDIS settled, distressingly battered but solid and real. The door opened and the Doctor stumbled out, looking around frantically until he locked eyes with Beth. "Beth!" He ran to her and grabbed her up in a hug as if his life depended on it, sweeping away the doubts she'd had about the sincerity of his affection. "Oh, Beth!" His voice almost broke—of course, he cared.

Poor, poor Doctor. She hugged him tightly back. "Doctor, you're all right!"

The boys were still looking at Time Lord and TARDIS in awe and fascination… and then _Nikola and George_ stepped out of the TARDIS. Beth gasped, and the Irregulars' faces lit up, eyes bulging. "George! Nikola!" Jimmy and Nat ran up to the inventors, danced around them, all but climbed on them.

Laughing, George knelt and swept both boys up into a bear hug. "Yes, we missed you, too!"

The Doctor set Beth down, then, and pulled back to look at her, large brown eyes dark with regret. He touched her face, and she felt the tremors in his hand. He looked so exhausted and _lost_ that she wanted to cry. "My poor, brave girl…"

Beth shook her head—she couldn't deal with that direction right now. "'M all right."

The Doctor gave her the _I-know-better_ eyebrow, then smiled slightly, nodding at the two men behind him.

She smiled back and moved past him to capture Nikola in a hug. "I've missed you," she murmured, "so, so much…"

Nikola hugged her back, blinking hard. _I missed you, too…_ Even his mental voice sounded choked.

She smiled mistily at him, enjoying once again the comforting warmth of the inventor's presence. She felt a brief wistfulness at the fact that she and her husband could never communicate like this, but pushed it away. This moment belonged to Nikola. _You kept me sane, you know, early on on that journey with Sherlock. I hope you know that_.

He nodded, smiling back. _How is he?_

She shivered slightly, recalling the way her husband had looked more dead than alive, the way that he'd all but broken down on her, what he must have gone through when she'd been dead… _He… he'll be okay. He's… healing_. _But he'll be fine_.

Will's voice pulled her back to the present. "Doctor…" The boy shook his head, grinning. "Gawd, ain't this gonna get confusin'!" He stuck out his hand. "Oi'm Will. S'an honour t' meet yew, guv, fin'lly."

The Doctor blinked and shook Will's hand. "And you." He looked around the small group. "So you're the Baker Street Irregulars, eh? Tha's brilliant!"

The boys grinned proudly. "S'right!" said Nat.

Charlie looked at the Doctor in curiosity. "So what yew been doin' all this time, guv'?"

The Doctor's smile turned hollow. "Been stuck in the TARDIS." He nodded back at her, looking concerned. "Poor old girl's pretty battered right now, too."

Will nodded. "An' yew don' look much better, Doctor." He turned to Beth, and she could see his suppressed eagerness to go into the TARDIS. That would definitely have to happen before the Doctor left 1895. "Is Mrs. 'Udson about?"

"Oh yeah, everything back to normal." Thank goodness, even if she _was_ going to miss some aspects of history happening all at once…

Grinning, Will turned to the other boys. "All roight, you lot, scarper back t'the yard, tell the others what's what."

Jimmy and Nat groaned, and George let Jimmy down off his shoulders. The inventor ruffled their hair affectionately and said, "We'll see you boys again soon, all right?"

Charlie herded them back into the fog, and Will took the Doctor by the elbow, herding _him_ towards the back door, George following suit with Nikola. "C'mon, guv."

The Doctor glanced back at Beth. "Yes, sir…"

Beth stayed where she was, uncertain of whether she should follow the men or the boys, wanting to do both. It felt like a weirdly appropriate analogy for her uncertain life right now.

George looked back over his shoulder and frowned, then nudged Nikola forward and turned around, returning to her with a look of embarrassment. He opened his arms, and she all but threw herself into them, grateful for his strong, warm embrace. He hugged like Dad did, and even more often, and she'd _missed_ him. "Hey," she said softly.

"It's good to have you back," he said quietly. He loosened his hold and put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She shrugged uncertainly, shaking her head. "I… am honestly not sure…"

He was looking at her in concern, and she wished she could reassure him, but she couldn't. "Is there anything I can do?"

Feeling awful now, she repeated her shrug and spoke past a growing lump in her throat. "I don't know…" Moriarty was still out there, she would be dealing with the trauma of having been _shot to death_ for who knew how long, she and Sherlock had yet to be lawfully wedded, and even once they were, what exactly would happen to her then?

"Oh, Beth…" He put his arms back around her, holding her close.

She hugged him back tightly, taking shuddering breaths. She wouldn't let herself really _cry_ just yet; she wasn't ready to deal with that, had the feeling it would be akin to releasing a floodgate. After a few seconds, she calmed enough to murmur, "Are you up for attending a wedding, sometime in the near future? "

His eyes widened, and then he chuckled softly, looking delighted. "Absolutely."

She smiled genuinely back and nodded at the house. "Let's get inside—it's cold out here."

He hummed earnestly in agreement, starting for the door again. "And just when's this infernal fog meant to let up?"

She laughed—it had been so nice to have another American around, even if he was from a different time. "This is London—the fog doesn't let up until next century."

He grinned back. "Now you tell me."

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was surprised to receive a visit from his brother; nevertheless, he was not adverse to seeing Sherlock twice in one day. "Well, good day, sirs!" he said genially as Sherlock and Dr. Watson entered his office. "Sherlock, this must truly be serious if you had to come directly here." Then Mycroft's eyes widened, because the appearances of both men had changed significantly since he'd last seen them. Watson was distressingly thin and pale, although moving with more ease than Mycroft had ever seen from him, and Sherlock was thinner than ever. Mycroft did not know what to make of it. "Do sit down, and tell me what the trouble is. "

The pair took the chairs offered, Holmes suppressing a wince at the obvious scan; not that he wasn't immensely glad to see his brother again, alive and well, but he hated to think what Mycroft must be picking up. "There are several matters which we need to discuss, brother mine," he said solemnly, "and the first is rather more serious than the Bruce-Partington plans."

Mycroft frowned—the last time he'd seen his brother this serious... "That would be an emergency, indeed."

Holmes shivered. "To put it mildly..." He took a deep breath and said simply, "We have reason to believe that Moriarty is still alive."

Mycroft sat back, stunned—it was easy to see that his brother was telling what he believed to be the absolute truth. "But how on earth can that be? You said he fell!"

"Indeed," Holmes said quietly. "His survival is nothing short of miraculous –" spreading his hands, "nevertheless, the evidence is mounting steadily." He hoped his brother would have the good sense not to ask exactly how he'd come by the knowledge.

Mycroft folded his own hands on his desk. Sherlock was clearly not willing to divulge all that he knew; for now, Mycroft would simply have to trust him. "I see," he said gravely.

Holmes sagged slightly, tension starting to drain now that the most difficult hurdle had been negotiated. "This latest case... I have begun to see some light – but the timing is crucial, Mycroft, Watson and I _must_ be free to work without looking back over our shoulders at every turn."

Mycroft nodded slowly. "Yes, of course. I can have men guarding you from the moment you set foot outside this building."

Holmes shook his head. "Unnecessary, brother. A discreet surveillance of Moriarty's headquarters ought to suffice for the moment." And if Moriarty didn't know where he and Watson were right now, Holmes would be very surprised. "What do you know of the Torchwood Institute?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and paused for a moment. It _made sense_. "…not _bloody_ much, brother mine, and that has always concerned me. But if Moriarty is connected to the Institute, that would explain my inability to acquire more information on it."

"Connected?" Watson snorted. "He's running the place outright!" He'd be willing to wager that Moriarty had had a considerable hand in its foundation as well.

"Dear God!" Mycroft breathed. The very idea was the stuff of nightmares. "But the Institute is the single most powerful entity in the British Empire!"

"I am aware," Holmes said dryly, expression turning grave, "and Moriarty is now at the very heart of it. I should also not be at all surprised if he intends to be the highest bidder for the submarine plans." Assuming the Professor didn't employ a certain agent a second time... Luring Oberstein back to London would have to be done with the utmost care.

Mycroft closed his eyes, considering. "I can set up a watch around the primary Institute office… but you must understand, Sherlock, that I cannot make a direct move against Torchwood. It answers only to the Queen." To even attempt to do so would be suicide to one's career, and Mycroft was needed where he was. This would have to be a long, delicate game.

A small smile crossed Holmes's face. "Not quite, brother mine. But first there is the matter of the stolen blueprints." His lips twitched. "It pains me deeply to admit that I require some additional assistance from you."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, his only concession to his brother's facetiousness. "And what might that assistance be?"

"I will need a complete list of all foreign spies or international agents known to be in England, with full addresses."

"Of course. I can message you within the hour."

"My thanks, Mycroft." He'd have to tell Watson about the original telegram later.

Mycroft nodded. "Of course. But you said 'several matters,' and you have only spoken of two. Come, my boy—what are these other affairs that they can rank in importance with Professor Moriarty and the Bruce-Partington Plans?" Merely studying his brother had given Mycroft nothing this time.

"Ah, yes..." Holmes gave his brother his best enigmatic smile, noticing with amusement that Watson was trying to hide a smile of his own. "There is one additional item of paperwork I will require, brother mine, preferably with all speed."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow again, instantly on alert at his brother's expression. "I see. And what might this paperwork entail?"

"A marriage license." Holmes could think of no better person from whom to request one, if only to enjoy his brother's reaction.

Mycroft eyed him warily. "And who are the victims to be?"

"Miss Elizabeth Smith..." Holmes's smile softened as he thought of Beth, greatly wishing she could have accompanied him for this; "and Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Mycroft frowned severely, studying Sherlock for a long moment. The boy seemed perfectly sincere, but surely if he were ever to develop a serious relationship with a woman, Mycroft would know far sooner than Sherlock's asking for a marriage license! "Sherlock, what are you up to now?"

Holmes's eyes twinkled, belying his dry tone: "Getting married, brother mine – I should have thought that was obvious."

"Regarding yourself, Sherlock," Mycroft said impatiently, " _many_ things are obvious, which is why I hardly trust that you are serious about this, especially in light of the fact that I have no prior knowledge of any circumstances whatsoever which could prompt you to surrender your bachelorhood!"

The detective's smile was edged with regret. "And I do not mean to enlighten you, Mycroft... except to say that I love this young woman dearly, and have done for months." _I had already begun falling for you before we first met..._

Mycroft stared at Sherlock, stunned by him for the second time in a short space of time. The earnest affection in his voice, his eyes... "Dr. Watson," Mycroft said weakly, "I beg your pardon, might my brother and I have a moment alone?"

Watson had also been staring – such sentiments coming so easily from his friend's lips, even to family... "Yes, of course."

"Thank you…" Mycroft waited for Watson to close the door behind him, then eyed his brother. "You _are_ serious."

Holmes leaned forward, hands clasped, expression open and unguarded. "Never more so in my life, Mycroft." Quieter, simply: "I adore her."

Once upon a time, Mycroft had thought that _someday_ , his more affectionate, more sensitive brother might carry on the family name, but as the years went by, he'd gradually given up hope that he would ever see his brother marry. And now to be presented with the sparest of facts and a request for a license... and the love in Sherlock's eyes... "I... am at a loss... as to what to say..."

Holmes smiled warmly, though suddenly feeling oddly bashful. "Say you'll come to the wedding?"

"Well, of course I shall... but, Sherlock, am I even to meet the bride beforehand?" Mycroft could not recall the last time he'd felt so dazed and confused. "And in Heaven's name, why the secrecy?"

Holmes sighed. "Forgive me, brother, I am aware of how this must appear... but I assure you that if I could tell you all, I would gladly do so. It is not the desire of either of us to keep you in the dark." His smile widened again. "And Beth is greatly looking forward to meeting you, Mycroft –" For the second time... "although when that may be depends entirely on how this latest case progresses."

Mycroft sighed and shook his head, massaging his temples and feeling a massive headache coming on, of the purely Sherlock-induced variety. "Do you have a date, then, for the ceremony?"

Holmes shook his head regretfully. "You'll be the first to know when we have."

Mycroft sighed again. "Very well. I shall see what I can do about that license."

"Thank you," Holmes said sincerely, rose and walked around the desk to where his brother was sitting.

Mycroft rose from his own chair, frowning and wondering what his brother was up to now.

About to hold out his hand, Holmes suddenly, impulsively hugged Mycroft, blinking hard. He'd missed his brother terribly... If only he _could_ tell Mycroft just how much he had to thank him for, his kindness to Beth.

Mycroft stiffened, shocked speechless for a long moment before awkwardly returning the hug with one arm. What on earth had possessed his brother? "Good heavens, Sherlock... "

Holmes had to fight the urge to laugh at how thunderstruck his brother sounded. Letting him go again, he went on lightly, as if nothing unusual had occurred, "Until next time, Mycroft – Watson or I shall be in touch regarding developments."

"Sherlock," Mycroft said hesitantly, "you do know that I shall be quite happy once I have recovered from the shock?"

Holmes stopped in the doorway, nodding over his shoulder. "I suspect your recovery may be a lot farther off than you think, brother mine," he said with a grin, and left.

Unable to help himself, Mycroft groaned Sherlock's name after him just as he had when they were boys. Insufferable child!

* * *

The woman who went by the title 'Madame' in the Torchwood Institute had good reason to be afraid. The Director had summoned her swiftly upon Time's renewal, and it had been quite some time since she had last been summoned, not since before the incident in Paris with Holmes and the girl. The Director's near-omniscience gave her good cause to dread this meeting.

Outside his office, she gathered her courage and composed herself, then rapped on the door.

"Enter." Moriarty's voice was coldly neutral, with no hint of satisfaction – it didn't require any extraordinary perception to hear the fear in the woman's knock.

Madame took one last deep breath and then obeyed, bowing. " _Bonjour_ , Director."

" _Bonjour_ , Madame." Moriarty nodded at the chair before the desk. "Pray be seated."

 _"Merci_." Madame sat and folded her hands in her lap, careful not to study the Director too closely. He seemed very distant, impassive—never a good sign. "What do you wish of me, _monsieur_?"

Moriarty's voice was now as smooth as glass. "Merely to discuss one or two trifling matters, Madame." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Perhaps you can deduce what the first might be."

 _Deduce_... Madame maintained her composure—she refused to admit to anything unless she was certain he knew enough. This meeting still might not be about Paris at all. Nevertheless, his tone and demeanor had her on edge... she'd heard stories of what became of those who failed. Everyone had. "No, _monsieur_ , I'm afraid I cannot. Is anything the matter?"

Moriarty permitted himself a faint smile – this was almost as enjoyable as sparring with Holmes. His sole regret over that was respecting the privacy of his student's thoughts, but he had no intention of repeating his mistake. "Oh, I have every confidence that all shall be well in time. Of course, that would be a considerably greater challenge, had I not also the utmost confidence in the loyalty of my employees." He opened the top drawer of his desk, took out a plain cardboard folder, and placed it on the desk in front of him, leaving it closed.

Madame frowned uncertainly. "What is that?"

Moriarty didn't answer, letting the question hang in the air for a moment, then leaned forward again, hands folded together and resting on top of the file. "I don't recall receiving an official report from you regarding your last visit to Paris, Madame. If this would be a convenient moment...?"

She blinked, growing more and more unsettled—she had played cat-and-mouse a thousand times, but only with the Director had she ever been the mouse." _Pardonnez-moi_ , _monsieur_ , there was very little to report. More civil unrest, more executions—but surely that is no longer relevant?"

"Indeed, a great many executions," Moriarty said as if he hadn't heard the last part, arching an amused eyebrow. "Emperor Bonaparte seemed to believe there were traitors lurking behind every statue. A pity he chose such a deluded zealot as his military advisor." Miss Jeanne d'Arc had sadly found an all-too-willing ear in which to pour her conspiracy theories.

Madame forced herself to calm—whether she was in trouble or not, the Director was in a lecturing mood, and there was no rushing an instructor in such a moment. All she could do was to swim with the current. "Indeed, a great pity, _monsieur_." She hoped that he could not sense the lie: Lady Jeanne had always been a favourite of hers. The Director was a man of discernment, but he was still English, and as such, biased.

Moriarty reached back into the desk drawer and took out a corked glass vial, half full of a thick, red liquid... "I do rather regret being unable to attend one of those little _affaires_ myself," he said softly, twirling the vial delicately between his fingertips. "I feel certain that such an experience would have been most... informative."

Madame felt her gaze drawn to the vial like a magnet—surely that couldn't be blood... She couldn't smell the liquid, but it looked terribly like blood, and it had been so long since she'd fed... With effort, she focused on what the Director was saying. "Quite possibly, _monsieur_. For my part, I've always found human executions to be dreadfully dull." She smirked mirthlessly. "I would be quite happy to save the executioners the trouble of removing the corpses, but it is nearly always impossible."

"Dear me – surely they were not all so unexciting? I was under the impression..." Moriarty uncorked the vial and swirled it gently like a wine glass; "that one of the last few executions before Time was reset took a most unexpected turn."

The scent of human blood was released with the cork, and her hunger flared to life. Oh, how she wanted so very much just to have one sip... "Ah, perhaps..." Then she realised, too late, that she was being pulled towards a confession, being led along in the conversation and then distracted by the blood. _Mon Dieu_ , but the Director truly could be cruel—and he _did_ know. Even so, the fear twisting her gut couldn't overpower her craving; she needed to feed... "I think I recall... that one... _Les Innocents_ grew brave enough to cause trouble—they rescued the victims."

The Professor arched an eyebrow, voice now soft as velvet. "'They'?" It was hard to be certain with alien minds, but he was reasonably confident that the ravenous creature was too cowed by now to even think of looking past the vial to his neck.

Cold fear sliced through her hunger; she didn't dare meet his gaze. She swallowed, throat dry, heart hammering, and murmured, "...they _helped_. Holmes and the girl rescued the victims."

Moriarty's voice grew softer still, almost a purr. "And then?"

She shivered—she was going to die, she couldn't die, not now, not like this, she'd survived for so long, she was at least twice as old as he was, but she'd survived by fleeing and hiding rather than fighting... She took a steadying breath. "They were pursued... I-I frightened the soldiers' horses, distracted them... and... Holmes... tackled me..." A blush crept up on her pallour; it had been deeply embarrassing to be taken by surprise like that.

Moriarty said nothing this time, sitting motionless, expression unchanged, allowing the silence in the room to stretch out. He was far from displeased that Madame had deterred the soldiers, but to have been caught unawares at such a crucial moment!

After several seconds, Madame continued, unable to bear the silence any longer. "I couldn't stop him. He was quite ready to kill me... and I think the girl would have if he'd wanted her to. I couldn't stop them both." She dared to look up then, silently pleading for mercy, then dropped her gaze again. "I couldn't..." She wasn't a fighter—what skills she possessed had been developed merely to allow her to survive.

"I see," Moriarty said icily. "And were you also unable to pursue them once they had parted from you?"

She flinched. "I couldn't stop them... and I could not guess where they would go next."

" _Conjecture_ ," Moriarty hissed suddenly, "should not have been necessary, Madame." Steely eyes dared her to tell him anything less than the absolute truth. "Why did you not follow?"

She cringed, trembling. "He would have killed me." She could hear the panic in her own voice. "Or the girl would have—she's a dead shot."

"Do you think me a fool, Madame? You were quite capable of avoiding recognition while tracking them, had you chosen to do so." The Professor's tone turned from glacial to merely severe. "The truth of the matter is that you allowed Holmes to manipulate you, using your former history to achieve his own ends, correct?" It was certainly what Moriarty would have done... Well, well...

Madame paled further. "I suppose," she said more quietly still, "in a way..." She wouldn't have put it that way, exactly; she would have said rather that Holmes had left her absolutely certain that he would have killed her if he'd ever caught her following them. She glanced up for a moment, then just as quickly back down. " _Je suis désolée._ _Je vous ai_ _échoué_ _et je_ _vous demande pardon_."

Moriarty looked at her thoughtfully. Clearly, _something_ of his former protégé's lessons had been absorbed... and the girl would have killed for Holmes if he had asked? Even better... "Make no mistake, Madame," he said coolly, "your talents may be unique, but they are of little use to me if you cannot control your baser instincts." He paused just long enough to let the woman begin to assume the worst. "However..."

Her imagination _had_ begun to run away with her. She looked up, still pale, hardly daring to hope.

"Those instincts may yet prove to be of use, once the pair have returned to Torchwood. I have little doubt that the girl would have shot you, had Holmes deemed it necessary – and yet he chose to spare your life." A faint smile. "Perhaps there was more to his decision than simple expediency."

She frowned, confused as to where this conversation was going. "...I... do not understand..."

Moriarty sighed. "Yours and Holmes's mutual... intrigue makes you the nearest thing Miss Lestrade possesses to a rival for his affections." Their sole encounter at Torchwood had been most illuminating. "I intend to turn the girl's jealousy to good account."

Madame hesitated—if the girl held the affection of the Great Detective, she certainly had no rival for it, which was _still_ a sore point for Madame... But it would be foolish to ruin her one chance at redemption, however tenuous. She tilted her head in curiosity. "You wish to use the girl?" The alert sent out to the agents on the Continent had only ordered that both the detective and his female companion be returned alive and unmolested.

"In a manner of speaking –" The Professor swept her a quelling look; "although I fail to see why that should concern you, Madame. Your task is merely to act as instructed."

She bowed her head, chastened. Never before had she given any human such control over her life, but this one... this one was too powerful, even for such a predator as she. "And how would you have me act, _monsieur_?"

"You shall begin by befriending Miss Lestrade, taking her into your confidence. Lead her to believe that you despise Torchwood, and myself in particular, as much as she does." Moriarty favoured the woman with a dry smile, knowing full well that it would not require much acting on Madame's part. "We shall discuss the matter further when I see fit to summon you again." He capped the vial and placed it on top of the file, waving his hand in dismissal. "Do not let me detain you."

Madame swallowed dryly again as he closed the vial—she needed to feed, _soon_ —and stood, still trembling slightly. _"Oui, monsieur._ " She bowed her head again. " _Merci beaucoup_." She wouldn't fail him again; she couldn't.

She had never felt more trapped in her life.

Moriarty's smile turned paternal for a moment. "Madame." Once she had departed, he put the vial back in the drawer, took a pen from his desktop and opened the folder. Curious that the sight of it should have caused the woman such anxiety – all it contained at the moment were blank sheets of paper.

* * *

 **Sky:** Okay, so, sorry it's been _so long_ , folks. Really. The fault lies 100% with me—I've had a bad case of writer's block (and real life interference). Plus, _somebody_ had to go and start a crossover between Sherlock Holmes and Star Wars, so _of course_ I fell head over heels for it and that's where most of my creative energy has gone in the past two months. (And _that_ is actually something we're going to start posting with this account, since it's a collab... so watch this space! :) )


	6. Family Reunion

**==Chapter 6==**

 **Family Reunion**

 _It's a mystery of human chemistry and I don't understand it. Some people, as far as the senses are concerned, just feel like home._

– Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

With three visits still to make, Holmes passed the time to the Walters' residence by informing Watson about the telegram he'd originally sent to Mycroft, then shamefacedly relating the handcuffs incident. He was grateful when Watson merely shook his head and grinned, remarking innocently that Holmes's wooing technique clearly needed some polish.

Holmes had been careful not to tell Watson before they arrived that Sir James had committed suicide, but no new data revealed itself when they interviewed the scientist's grieving brother. Holmes was growing ever more frustrated at having to go back over old ground – despite the risk, the temptation to simply go straight to Oberstein's residence in broad daylight was terrible – but he was very grateful to have his Boswell with him again, helping him to stay calm and focussed, especially since Watson had had ample opportunity to consider the facts of the case himself.

Visiting Mrs. West was even worse this time around; Holmes felt dreadful at being no nearer a solution over her son's involvement in the theft, and his own recent bereavement, however temporary, made seeing the anguish in Violet Westbury's eyes almost unbearable. More than ever, he yearned to get back home to Beth, but he couldn't do that yet, they still had one more stop: the Woolwich Arsenal. Nothing new was discovered at the office, either, although Johnson's obvious bewilderment over West's alleged treason, combined with Miss Westbury's firm belief in her fiancé's good character, did serve to convince Holmes all the more that the young man could well be innocent.

Just as before, there seemed to be nothing more to do here, and with weary yet eager footsteps, the pair turned their faces back towards Baker Street. Thanks to the persistent fog, however, they found themselves forced to get off the Circle Line at Edgeware, being informed that the Baker Street station was now closed, due to an unfortunate signaller's error. Still, home was only a short cab ride away... and as the hansom rolled up Siddons Lane to their back door, Holmes stiffened in excitement. "Watson, look!"

Watson stared in relief and joy—he hadn't thought that the TARDIS would be able to make the trip so soon. " _Molto bene_ , Doctor!" he laughed in delight, Holmes throwing him a smiling sideways glance. Then Watson's eyes widened at a thought. "Oh, heavens. Katherine..." Now that he thought about it, he remembered the two Time Lords speaking privately at the end of the Manhattan affair—had Kathy... Kit... told the Doctor who she was? "I... am quite curious as to what the Doctor has to say about her..."

Holmes had to admit to being just as curious, but gave his friend a reassuring nudge with his elbow. "Well, I should think that 'Congratulations' will be the first thing..." then he suddenly sobered.

"I'd imagine so... Holmes, what is it?"

"Your daughter's existence is but one of many pieces of news, Watson, and by far the most pleasant." Holmes bit his lip. "I confess, I... am not in the least looking forward to disclosing my part in this affair." He'd gotten it all so _wrong_ , right from the outset...

Watson watched in sympathy, still relieved beyond words to have his friend back like this. "I should think the women have already begun to explain things, my dear fellow." He shook his head. "...all I know is that none of us could ever lose the Doctor's love."

Holmes gave him a wan smile. "I find that the thought of losing his respect is almost as painful." He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. "Nevertheless..." It wasn't as if he could avoid this meeting forever. Climbing out of the cab, he paid the driver, then turned to Watson. "Shall we?"

Smiling, Watson put a comforting hand on Holmes's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Come on, Holmes. 'Upwards and onwards.'"

The detective nodded, swallowing hard, and walked in the door. The ground floor seemed deserted for the moment, but when they reached the stairs, the Doctor's voice could clearly be heard coming from the sitting room, chattering away merrily to someone.

Watson gave Holmes an encouraging smile. "Sounds promising, wouldn't you say, old fellow?" Quite promising, actually: as they climbed the stairs, Watson realised that the Doctor was talking to—or with—the baby.

Holmes paused at the sitting room door, taking a moment to simply listen: Sally laughing at the Doctor's babbling, which the TARDIS wasn't translating for some reason, Kathy cooing back at him, and Beth speaking in a quieter voice. Who...? Holmes inhaled sharply as it occurred to him that the Doctor might not have come back to London directly...

Opening the door, he and Watson gaped at the crowd before them: the Doctor and Sally on the settee, Kathy on Sally's lap; Beth was curled up in Holmes's armchair, talking with none other than George and Nikola, George in Watson's chair, Nikola astride a chair he'd pulled up from the table.

Beth looked up as the door opened, feeling as if her entire being lit up as her husband entered the room. He and John were okay, and they were home...

The Doctor looked up as well, his smile fading as the familiar old guilt welled up inside. Holmes and Watson looked much the worse for wear—he'd never seen Watson so haggard, and he'd only seen Holmes worse when he'd been bleeding all over from Cheng Wei's attack. What they must have suffered... The Doctor forced himself to stand and approach them. "My boys," he murmured.

"Doctor!" Watson beamed back at the Time Lord, though deeply concerned at how thin and haggard _he_ looked.

"Thank goodness," the Doctor murmured—"and Kathy, I hear—you're both all right." He wrapped his arms around them both in a warm hug, figuring they could do with the comfort as much as he could.

The two men returned the hug, Watson enthusiastically, Holmes gingerly; his feeling of guilt was only increasing at the reception they were getting – and what was that odd-smelling damp patch on the shoulder of the Doctor's suit jacket?

"Thank God _you're_ all right, Doctor!" Watson said warmly. The Time Lord really had given him a scare during that phone call. "It's so good to see you again."

The Doctor smiled, blinking back tears. "It's good to see _you_ again, Watson—all of you..." Good... and guilt-inducing... He shook his head. "I'm so sorry—I should have known better than to leave you all here, knowing that Torchwood was watching you so closely."

Holmes shook his own head firmly, appalled that the Doctor could think himself responsible for all of this. "Doctor..." He couldn't finish, looking down at the floor in shame.

Watson clasped Holmes's shoulder in silent empathy, meeting the Time Lord's eyes with difficulty. He'd been trying to come to terms with his own regrets since the rescue, with rather less success than his brave show with Holmes would indicate. Fortunately, the detective had been too preoccupied to notice.

The Doctor squeezed Watson's shoulder gently, then let go of him to hug Holmes only, feeling that the man needed the extra reassurance. "I was scared to death for you all."

"And when Moriarty told us you'd been trapped inside the Rift," Watson murmured, "we feared the worst." The worst might not have come to pass, but the Doctor had clearly not come away from his ordeal unscathed.

The Doctor smiled thinly. "Yes, well, I think I had the easiest time of it." Locked away and asleep, untouchable... while his Companions had been struggling for not only their lives but their very souls. At the soft creak of floorboards, he glanced back over his shoulder and smiled more genuinely at Nikola and George, who had risen and come forward. He looked back at his boys and nodded at the two inventors. "Go on, go say hello."

Watson waited until Holmes had moved to greet Nikola, then went to George and gave him a bear hug, thrilled that they didn't have to part just yet.

Holmes extended his hand to Nikola with a misty grin, wishing he were able to communicate with the man the way Beth had... and then was amazed to hear a familiar Serbian accent in his mind: _Welcome home, Holmes. It's good to see you again._

The detective swallowed hard, a lump in his throat. _It has been... a long time..._ he thought hesitantly, _...far too long..._ He faltered, unable to fully express his gratitude even in his thoughts. _Nikola..._

Nikola smiled in understanding. _Don't mention it._ Aloud, "I understand congratulations are in order?"

Beth decided that was her cue and stood, moving over to them and taking Sherlock's hand. She smiled lovingly at him before turning to face Nikola, resting her head on her husband's shoulder. There was something very odd and very thrilling at the same time about being and acting married in front of friends.

Holmes smiled tenderly back at his wife and squeezed her hand, heart singing at being beside her again. "They are indeed, thank you."

Watson parted from George and came to sit beside Sally on the couch, putting his arms around her and Kathy. Sally snuggled into John's hold and kissed his cheek, then smiled ruefully down at the baby. She'd been a good girl, but... "Well, little lady, I think it's time you got another nap."

Watson stroked Kathy's cheek with his finger. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he murmured. He tilted his head as a thought occurred to him. "Has Mrs. Hudson met all of our new arrivals yet?" he murmured.

"Of course!" Sally grinned. And had risen admirably to the occasion—the woman had the patience and fortitude of a saint. "We still haven't told her _everything_ , but she adores Kathy…"

"And George," Nikola grinned. He'd gotten the distinct impression from the landlady that his friend vaguely resembled the late _Mr._ Hudson...

"And all good landladies love me!" the Doctor beamed. He'd already gotten himself firmly into Mrs. Hudson's good graces, bless her big heart.

Sally sighed. "It's true." Kathy had woken with an excited squeal at the sound of the TARDIS, but then demanded to be fed before anything else. All but vibrating with impatience, Sally had carried her down the moment she could, patting Kathy's back as she fussed and squirmed, to find the new arrivals busy ingratiating themselves. Mrs. Hudson warmed to the Doctor in particular when the delighted Time Lord took the baby to get acquainted for the first/second time, and Kathy had promptly, with no sense of occasion, burped up on his shoulder.

Watson shook his head, laughing. "Doctor, you're incorrigible! Mrs Hudson's a respectable widow, I'll have you know. Heaven only knows what trouble you're going to get into with Good Queen Bess."

The Doctor grinned, shamelessly happy. "Oh, I can't wait to find out what happens."

Shaking her head fondly, Sally shushed him as she rocked the baby. All the gang, minus the Irregulars, and presumably on good terms this time around, crowded into one sitting room for the next few days was going to make for an interesting time, that was for sure.

* * *

While the others were going back and forth, Holmes caught Beth's eye, and the pair slipped out of the room into the hall. Beth covered her mouth and giggled silently, feeling like one of the kids in school, sneaking out to steal a kiss somewhere secret. More than that, though, she felt positively giddy: she was alive, Sherlock was okay, Time had been restored, and everyone was all right.

Holmes wrapped his arms around her tight and kissed her, revelling in her soft hum of pleasure, her arms winding around him eagerly as she kissed him back. "I've wanted to do this all morning," he murmured. He didn't know how he could have stayed the course without Watson keeping him on track.

She hummed in agreement, raising a hand to his cheek and stroking it, reveling in the familiarity, the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. "Does it sound crazy that I've missed you?" she murmured. "Just this morning?"

"Not at all." He'd been missing her just as much. He kissed her again, then hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose..." After all, he didn't have to go straight back out...

She tilted her head in curiosity. "What?"

Holmes's eyes flickered over to his bedroom door. "If we were to withdraw to the bedroom, dearest," he murmured suggestively, "what do you think the odds are of our remaining undisturbed for the next half hour or so?"

A thrill ran through her at the unexpected idea, eyes brightening. Then a problem occurred to her. "But everyone's in the next room."

"Well, then," he purred in her ear, heart beating faster at the licentious prospect, "we'll have to be _very_ quiet, won't we?"

Pulse already racing, she shivered and nodded, biting back a soft moan—his voice, deep and murmuring in her ear, did things to her, not the least of which was making cognitive thought difficult.

Holmes grinned as an idea occurred. "Besides, I think I know how to clear the room..." He closed his eyes and focused his thoughts: _Do Not Disturb_.

She frowned questioningly. What was he up to now?

He lifted her chin and kissed her softly. "Message to the psychic paper – now let's avoid the stampede." He drew her with him to the bedroom door and through it, closing it behind them.

* * *

Some time later, Beth nestled into her husband's arms, weary and sated, still drifting in a blissful haze. She began to stroke Sherlock's back slowly, lazily, and then she remembered something. "Mm, you know... that message from Mycroft came." She smiled, amazed that she could actually smile now over one of the first things they fought about. _Feels like ages ago._

Holmes brushed her hair back from her face, brightening at the news. "Ah, excellent." His smile became enigmatic once more. "And speaking of paperwork... we should be expecting another such item from Whitehall in the near future."

She stopped her hand and tilted her head, gaze questioning.

"Mycroft has promised to procure us a marriage license with all possible haste, and assured me that he would be delighted to attend the wedding –" Holmes chuckled at the memory of his brother's face; "once he recovered from the shock, of course."

"Aw." Beth sighed and shook her head. "If he thinks he's shocked now…" Wait until Mycroft realised that his future sister-in-law was a headstrong American girl young enough to be his daughter and largely ignorant of the way life worked here to boot.

"He is greatly looking forward to meeting you, _cherie_. I think he'd rather given up hope of my ever finding someone who was up to the challenge of domesticating me." _Not that you ever expected to, either._

She blushed—thinking of herself as someone who could _domesticate_ the Great Detective felt... big-headed. "…I can't wait to really meet him..."

"Neither can I..." Holmes sobered, remembering what Beth had told him. "Beth... I don't think I've ever said this before... but I... I'm glad you were..." He corrected himself hastily: "Well, not glad about that, exactly, but... I-I'm glad he wasn't... wasn't alone when..." He couldn't finish, blinking back sudden tears. He'd been deeply relieved to find no haunted look in Mycroft's eyes – his brother truly hadn't seemed to remember anything about the incident, thank God.

Beth rubbed Sherlock's back soothingly, blinking back her own tears—Mycroft's death had haunted her dreams for a long time. Words couldn't express how grateful she was that he was also alive again. "Oh, honey... Shh, it's okay now. It's okay..." She nuzzled Sherlock and said, "What's up next for the day? Reconnaissance?"

He nuzzled her back, sighing. "Mm, yes. I need to keep retracing my steps." _But... no one said you have to go alone this time..._ "Beth... would you like to come with me? Watson won't be accompanying me to Oberstein's residence until after dark, in any case."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?" The irony of his asking her to join him on the case was not lost on her. "I'd love to!"

Holmes smiled at her radiant expression and kissed her. "Well, I suppose... we should be getting up..." He just needed the rest of him to cooperate.

She made a face, wishing they didn't have to, and sighed, nudging him. "Sweetie, I don't wanna fix it for you this time."

"And a splendid job you and Will made of it, too." He kissed her nose, got up and retrieved their clothes from the floor.

She blushed and sat up, and then noticed something for the first time: all the portraits of criminals hanging on the bedroom walls, exactly as John had written. Zed, it really was creepy... and two portraits in particular were horribly familiar. "Ah, honey? Um..."

Holmes looked up inquiringly as he handed Beth her clothes, then realised where she was looking. "Oh." He could have kicked himself, though it had been a long time since he'd really _looked_ at his Rogues' Gallery. Expression grim, he crossed the room, took the twin portraits of Moriarty and Moran from their hooks and dropped them into the wastepaper basket, feeling a perverse pleasure at the sound of shattering glass as they landed. "I'm so sorry, Beth, I never thought..." He sat down on the bed beside his wife and put his arm around her. "The rest can come down, too, if you wish."

She blushed again and leaned against him. "I was just thinking... it'd be awfully weird to have the whole Newgate roster watching us make love..." _And they really creeped you out once you noticed them_. She smiled sheepishly up at him.

"True." Holmes chuckled, kissing her on the forehead. "Mrs. Hudson will be delighted, she's always hated them."

She smiled more genuinely at his kiss—she still hadn't gotten over receiving small affectionate gestures like that from him. Who would have thought that the Great Detective could be so sweet? "Why did you put them up in the first place?"

"I suppose... mostly to remind myself of why I chose detective work in the first place – and there are a fair number in that gallery still at large." God only knew how many of them were also working for Torchwood now.

Beth shivered—that wasn't something she'd wanted to hear. "Lovely..."

He held her closer, although knowing it wasn't merely the cold making her shiver. "Well, we'd best be getting ready."

Holmes was mostly silent as they redressed. Now that the euphoria of their reunion had been overtaken by practical matters, he was starting to wonder how all of this was going to work, once the case had been concluded. His past remarks to Watson about balancing married life with his detective work had been laughably uninformed, true, but how could he ever have foreseen circumstances like these?

Sally had chosen to make her life here easily enough, with no friends or family left behind in her own time... but how was Beth going to cope? She had proven herself to be a woman in every way that mattered, but she was still so young... Was it selfish of him to have married her like this, taking her away from her home and family before she was ready? Beth had never even had the chance to go to college like Sally had; and even if she was able to choose between her old life and the new... Holmes's mind recoiled from the whispering thought: _Would it even be up to her?_

* * *

 **Ria:** Boy, am I glad to be putting Holmes back on the case, though I do feel bad over him having to start from scratch, especially visiting the bereaved. *hugs him*

Those who'd like to read more about Sherlock and Beth's, ahem, reunion, you can find it on our blog, wholmesproductions dot tumblr dot com, called 'Chapter 6 Bonus Scene.'


	7. Back On Track

**==Chapter 7==**

 **Back on Track**

 _I can imagine a life without you, but it seems impossibly dreary, imperfect, unhappy._

– Charles Sheehan-Miles, Just Remember to Breathe

Going back downstairs with Beth, Holmes found it more difficult than ever to concentrate on the unfinished case. The thought of having to let his beloved go a second time, when she'd only just come back to him... and telling himself that Beth would at least be alive in the future didn't help – without the TARDIS, she'd still be where he couldn't follow...

"Honey?" Beth's arm squeezed his gently. "What's wrong?"

Holmes shook his head, trying to smile as he returned the squeeze. All he was doing here was meeting trouble halfway, he hadn't even asked the Doctor if something could be done. "Just tired. I won't be sorry to finally wrap up this case, and that's a fact."

Beth's smile was half a wince. "Well, don't forget, this is only Day One."

Holmes groaned. "Don't remind me!" This morning alone would have been too surreal by half without Watson being there, 'déjà vu' didn't begin to cover it. "I wish you could come with me tonight, too." Housebreaking and searching for evidence while wishing himself back at home the entire time wasn't going to be any fun.

"Whatcha up to?" The Doctor had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a sleeping Kathy in his arms.

Holmes's smile grew more genuine at the endearing picture. "Beth and I are going out on reconnaissance – we should only be an hour or so."

The Doctor nodded slowly. "What about Moriarty?"

It would be a long time before the mention of that name stopped making Holmes's flesh crawl, if ever. "Mycroft has set preventative measures in place, temporarily. Moriarty is unlikely to make any overt moves while under surveillance. Once this case is closed, however, we will have to consider very carefully what _our_ next move ought to be – the man is the current head of Torchwood, after all."

"Mm." The Doctor brightened suddenly. "Actually, you have something else to do first, before you go."

Holmes frowned. He'd thought he'd taken care of all current loose ends... "Oh. Well, if Watson inquires, I shall still need him to..."

The Doctor shook his head. "Not Watson."

Beth's lips formed an 'O'. "Oh, of course."

Holmes's face reddened as it finally dawned on him. How long had it been since he'd actually last seen the Irregulars, or even thought about them? If he had, he would have assumed, or at least hoped, that they had also forgotten all about what happened; but even if that had been the case, he still wanted to see them.

He nodded at Beth's expectant look, suddenly nervous. "Where are they?"

* * *

The murmur of voices ceased abruptly as the kitchen door opened, and the lump in Holmes's throat grew at the sight of all those delighted faces... and the deafening silence, which no one was quite daring to break.

"...Boys..." Holmes's voice was hoarse, eyes glistening. God, he'd let the Irregulars down just as badly as anyone, he hadn't the least idea what to say to them...

"Mr. 'Olmes!" Spell broken, Jimmy ran forward and threw his arms around the detective, bursting into tears.

Holmes met Jimmy on his knees, returning the hug tightly. "Jimmy..." he murmured, barely holding back his own sobs, tears falling silently. " _Dear_ boy... I'm so sorry...!"

Beth watched with tears in her own eyes as the younger boys crowded around the two. The older ones hung back slightly—Will looked just as needful as Jimmy, but he wouldn't move forward until the others were done. The little ones came first.

So Kelly approaching Beth and hugging her took her by surprise. "Oh, Beth!" he whispered.

But she returned the hug gratefully, tightly. These boys had become her brothers, and she had missed them all _so much_. "It's okay," she whispered. Her poor boys—they must have been so scared for her, for Sherlock. She should have sent them messages through Nikola. "I'm here."

"But whoi'd yer go 'way s'long, Mr. 'Olmes?" Gil sniffed, coming forward. "Din't yer wanter come back t'us?"

Will caught a puzzled Holmes's eye, jerking his head towards the back door. Of course, the TARDIS –he should have realised Beth would have told the others something of his travels. "Because I was... very foolish, Gil," he answered solemnly, while silently apologising to the Doctor, whom he strongly suspected was listening in. "I stayed away for so long that I started to forget what I had here." His heart broke all over again as the little boy hugged him around the neck, breath hitching. "But I could never forget my boys... I've missed you all very much."

"Are y' _really_ goin' ter marry Beth, Guv'nor?" another Irregular burst out excitedly, apparently forgetting Beth could hear.

Holmes couldn't help smiling, but took care to answer seriously, "If Beth will have me. Do you think she would?"

Felix beamed. "Cor, wouldn' she jus'!"

"Oi!" Gil turned and smacked Felix on the shoulder. "Yer s'posed t'let _'er_ say it!"

Beth reddened—talk about being put on the spot! Kelly grinned, and she swatted his shoulder, laughing self-consciously. "Good grief, you guys."

"Go on, then, Guv'nor," Charlie called, grinning. "Wot yer waitin' for?"

Holmes turned on the spot where he knelt to face Beth, smiling foolishly. He hadn't expected to have such a large audience! _Come on, old boy, you know you regretted not proposing properly! Here's your chance..._ Neither able nor wishing to argue with that, Holmes held out his hands as Kelly nudged Beth forward.

Stunned and still blushing, Beth took Sherlock's hands and smiled sheepishly at him. Never in a million years would she have expected _Sherlock_ to propose, and in front of most of the Baker Street Irregulars, no less!

As the boys quietened around them, elbowing each other and wriggling in excitement, Holmes looked earnestly up at his beloved, his heart in his eyes. "Elizabeth..." _Don't say 'Lestrade', Mrs. Hudson's probably eavesdropping, too..._ "would you do me the great honour... of becoming my wife?"

Beth blinked back sudden tears, smile trembling. "Yes." She swallowed another disbelieving laugh; this was all so surreal... but she wouldn't have traded the experience for the world. Not with the person she loved most in the world looking at her like that. "Yes, I will."

With the Irregulars all cheering themselves hoarse, Holmes gratefully rose from his now-aching knees and wrapped his arms around Beth. The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance, but he wasn't going to allow any of his lurking fears to spoil this moment. Surely there must be _something_ the Doctor could do...

Beth's blush had deepened again at the boys' cheering, but she couldn't object to the proposal itself, or the hug. She raised her hand to his face and grinned even as her gathering tears fell, heart full to bursting. And, well, if they had to perform like this, she was going to give the finale. Stroking his cheek for a moment, she reached for the back of his neck and pulled him gently into a kiss, prompting another wave of cheers.

* * *

The Doctor hurried away from the kitchen to the front door and waited for the couple. That… that was seriously one of the most precious things he'd ever had the privilege to witness, even if only muffled through a door. There had to be some way…

Then they came out, Sherlock and Beth, looking as happy as any couple, young or old, deeply and irreversibly in love. Beth was starting to pin up her hair, which was significantly longer than it had been when she'd first arrived, and Sherlock's contented smile quickly turned into a swift, slight frown. Why, the Doctor didn't know, but a sobering thought came to him—Moriarty was still out there.

"You two be careful," he murmured.

Beth smiled faintly. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

The Doctor smiled. "That's my girl." Beth certainly could have handled all of Time and Space… _wait, maybe she still could_...

Sherlock smiled sheepishly, and the Doctor had to stifle a grin of his own upon the realisation that the detective was wearing a faintly possessive expression, _**My**_ _girl_ , his arm on Beth's tightening almost imperceptibly. Now _that_ was kind of adorable—the Great Detective that madly in love with a slip of a girl. _Who'd've thunk?_

"And take good care of that baby," Beth added.

The Doctor smiled broadly. "Awww, she and I are getting on just fine. Got her to go to sleep—has to count for something."

Sherlock was about to walk out the door, then stopped and turned, frowning. "Doctor… the TARDIS looked decidedly worse for wear when we saw her just now. Dare I ask what happened in the Rift?"

The Doctor's smile faltered, bad memories clamouring at the edge of his mind. Not to mention his poor old girl, she must have been so lonely… "We got banged around for the better part of a year, that's all. …weeeeell, okay, maybe there were a few reeeally nasty things in there trying to get into her—" not that he knew it at the time, but the old girl communicated it to him later—"but the TARDIS is the TARDIS. Ab-so-lutely _nothing_ gets in that girl if she doesn't want it, an' she wasn't wantin' it. "

Sherlock nodded, giving him his patented "We _will_ talk about this later" Look.

The Doctor shook his head. "Just go already—it's getting late! Have fun, save the world, be brilliant!"

"And all that jazz?" Beth added.

The Doctor nodded, impressed—that was an obsolete saying by her time, and jazz itself was a very rare taste. Sherlock, however, grimaced, not much impressed by most future music. "As long as it's not the Beatles," he said wryly.

Beth perked up. "Oo, I love the Beatles!"

Her husband groaned and shook his head in mock despair. The Doctor had a hard time holding in his laughter while holding the sleeping Kathy. "All right, get _out_ of here, you two! Shoo!"

* * *

Holmes smiled, squeezed Beth's hand, and let it go, leaving the house and whistling for a cab. "Hansom!" As a cab rolled up the street towards them, he turned back to her. "And just one bar of 'Yellow Submarine' and you shall be walking," he warned lightly.

"But it's so completely _appropriate_ ," Beth deadpanned.

He gave her a half-hearted glare. "As if Watson's humour wasn't bad enough!"

She giggled. "Oh, hush."

The cab settled, and Holmes helped her up before climbing in himself. "Gloucester Road Station."

The cab set off, and Beth sat back, all but basking in the cold November sunlight. "So," she mused, "we're checking out the tracks again."

Holmes nodded. "Best not to leave any detail to chance. It is possible there is still some clue which I failed to see the last time." Not that Beth would tell him if there were. _Not verbally, anyhow..._ Staying focussed on his surroundings, while ignoring Beth's body language... Hm, perhaps bringing her along for this hadn't been his best idea ever, but he certainly wasn't about to send her away again.

Beth nodded back. "Right…" She wondered just what, at this point, he thought was going on—he might not theorise without data, but he had to have some thoughts, nonetheless. She could ask and not let slip any spoilers, couldn't she? Of course she could—she'd have to get used to doing it, if somehow she could stay in this era... "Okay, I gotta ask, and I won't give anything away, I promise. Just curious… as to what you think is going on? I mean, obviously, you were investigating Oberstein before, and he did turn out to have the plans..."

"Indeed, although I failed to obtain any incriminating evidence from his house." So stupid of him, not to have taken _someone_ along as lookout. "At the very least, I hope to discover tonight who his accomplice is, for he certainly could not have acted alone. We shall see."

She nodded again, slowly, tamping down the urge to give just a little hint. Besides, there other things to discuss... such as why her husband was more skeletal now than ever. "So… you were going to tell me what happened to you..."

"Oh." Blast, he'd hoped she might have forgotten about that.

She sighed. If this evasiveness was what she had to look forward to, she might strangle him herself and spare them both. "Sherlock, you were looking half-dead before Kathy healed you!" Beth wouldn't soon forget the sight of both men bleeding out on the carpet, and Sherlock literally white and emaciated, looking more like a corpse than a living being. " _What happened?_ "

Holmes took a deep breath, clasping his hands tightly. "Well... Jones had a little more trouble getting me back to England than he anticipated. The sedative he was using meant I couldn't keep anything down..." He shuddered, remembering how fervently he had wished for death's blessed release as his entire stomach apparently tried to make a bid for freedom. "So, basically... he had to choose between keeping me quiet and feeding me."

Beth shivered, eyes widened and chest clenched as she listened. "Oh, honey…!" She wound an arm around him, holding him close, then frowned in confusion. "Wait, Jo… What happened to Moran?"

 _...Moran's temple exploding outwards, toppling forward into the snow..._ "He shot himself, love, while we were still at the chalet."

Beth stared, speechless. Moran... had shot himself? _Why?!_

Holmes's knuckles were white, blinking hard. "I'm sorry, Beth..." he whispered. "After everything he'd done... I could gladly have put a bullet through his head myself... and I couldn't even move!" Not even to hold Beth in his arms one moment longer...

Chest aching, she held him close, rubbing his arm comfortingly. "Oh, Sherlock…" She took his hand in hers and kissed it; then, after a few seconds, gave voice to her confusion. "Why would he shoot himself?"

"Because..." Damn it, he couldn't think of any way to tell her which wouldn't frighten her. "Because Moriarty didn't want you dead. Moran must have believed that this..." He squeezed her hand; "failure was the last straw, that he needn't bother going back."

Beth paled. Moriarty's allowing them to escape suddenly made far, far more sense. _He was testing me_. And if there was one thing she'd learned in the past few months, it was that no one was truly incorruptible—everyone had their breaking point, and hers was probably all too visible to the Professor... And _Moriarty was still out there_. She shuddered, too shaken by the first revelation to respond to the second.

"I'm sorry, Beth..." Holmes put his arm around her, no longer caring who might see them. "I didn't understand until they came for us." _I_ _ **won't**_ _let him have you..._

She nestled into his hold, trembling, grateful for the comfort. "I never thought..." Her voice was hoarse; she shook her head and all but tucked herself beneath his arm, as if it could protect her from all unfriendly eyes and thoughts. She wished it could. "How," she murmured finally, "did you get away from... Jones, you said?"

He nodded. "It was Johnstone, sweetheart. His men recognised me in Dieppe, and because we weren't... you weren't with me..." Why had it taken him so long to understand what the captain had seen from the very first?

Beth bit her lip. Bless Johnstone—he'd always been kind to her. "Oh gosh… I need to th—" She stopped, feeling the blood drain from her face: Johnstone was back in the past, and she'd probably never see him again, and he wouldn't remember her if she did... _I can't ever thank him_... And she didn't love her husband any less, but suddenly the thought of never seeing the smuggler again _hurt_ , and she had to blink back sudden tears.

Holmes kissed her hair, a lump in his throat. "They dumped Jones out of the boat halfway across the Channel, took care of me when they realised I was ill. They were very kind, Beth... though I think more for your sake than mine." Johnstone's face, all the way back to England...

Beth stifled a sob—she still hadn't really _cried_ since returning to life and she didn't want to now. That was a can of worms she wasn't ready to open. But poor Sherlock...

He rocked her gently, shamefaced as he remembered. "And I'm afraid I repaid that kindness rather poorly."

She took a shuddering breath before she could speak. "...what do you mean?"

"Well, the details are rather blurred... but for some reason I was convinced that I would find Watson at Baker Street."

Beth's eyes widened in fresh horror—Sherlock must have been delirious to have thought that. She lifted herself a bit and wrapped an arm around him. "Oh, honey…"

"I was so determined to reach London... Johnstone took me there by cart..." Which had been quite as unpleasant as any of the earlier stages. "But when we reached it, I was ill enough that he decided I should go to the Infirmary."

She squeezed his hand and murmured, "But you went home."

He nodded wretchedly. "I hadn't given him the address. I waited until his back was turned, then fled... He must have been so worried..."

Beth held him tightly, letting her tears fall. "Yeah," she croaked out. Johnstone had been unprincipled, not heartless... She felt a pang in her chest, not just for Sherlock, and wished that romantic feelings didn't have to be so bloody complicated.

"I don't remember much after that..." His lips were sealed on the little he could remember. "The next thing I recall clearly is waking up in my old room. Mrs. Hudson had found me on her front doorstep."

Beth shivered and rubbed his arm soothingly, not wanting to imagine Sherlock so deathly ill.

"She took me in, nursed me through the fever..." Smiling tenderly, "And though I didn't know it at the time, it was she who brought Watson and I back together at the last."

Beth smiled mistily. "Still Mrs. Hudson..." Thank goodness... Sherlock would probably have died, otherwise...

"Watson told me, while we were out earlier: he received a letter from her at Rosewood, on my behalf, asking him to come to Baker Street. I must have told her where to reach him..." Holmes shivered. "Unfortunately, he wasn't the first to arrive."

And both friends had been bleeding from gunshot wounds when she came back... She shivered, too, and squeezed him gently. "Moriarty?"

Holmes nodded, grateful for the comfort. "He'd come to take me 'back home', as he put it. I refused – although I doubt I could have physically done much to prevent it... but, mercifully, that was when Watson arrived."

"Oh, sweetheart..." She exhaled slowly to conceal the fact that she was shaking ever so slightly—she hadn't known it had been that close. "Thank God John got there when he did."

"I thought I was dreaming at first," he whispered. "How could he have known where to find me?" A misty smile crept back over his face. "But I was so very glad to hear his voice again."

Her heart lifting, Beth echoed his smile and kissed his cheek.

Holmes wrapped both arms around her tight, saying softly, "You were right, Beth..." Watson missing him, their friendship being at the heart of the problem, both of them needing to forgive each other... "You were right about everything."

She couldn't reply; she could only hug him tightly back, heart too full for words.

* * *

Alighting from the cab, Holmes paid the driver and led the way into the station. "Now then, we cannot simply walk along the tracks. Last time I procured the services of a railway official, William Smythe – ah, there he is!" Holmes waited until the man had finished giving another patron directions before approaching. "Pardon me, sir, might we beg a few moments of your time?"

Smythe turned with a smile and touched his hat. "Good day, gents! How can I assist you?"

Holmes bowed in return. "Sherlock Holmes. I am acting on behalf of her Majesty's government in investigating the death of Cadogan West."

The official's eyes widened. "Why, Mr. Holmes! Yes, sir, I read all about it in the papers – terrible business, that!" Collecting himself, he stuck out his hand. "William Smythe, at your service."

"A pleasure, Mr. Smythe," the detective smiled sincerely as he shook hands. "Would it be possible for my associate and I to inspect the railways lines from here to, say, Kensington?"

"No trouble at all, Mr Holmes, happy to oblige! Although I will have to accompany you, you understand – safety regulations and all."

"Of course," Holmes nodded. "Lead on."

Beth couldn't help grinning at being called Sherlock's "associate," so she'd pulled her cap a little further down. But as she tagged along just behind him, she realised that she was drawing a blank as she tried to call to mind what had happened in the written story—or even the Granada episode. For all that this case had been central to her life for a long while now, she really couldn't remember. She sighed and adopted her Cockney accent, whispering, "Guv, 'm sorry, but Oi jes realised m' brains 're fried. Wot 're we lookin' for?"

Holmes's lips twitched at the irony, but answered in a sympathetic murmur, " _We_ are looking for a particular spot where several elements come together: where the lines run in the open air with houses abutting, and the Underground trains are frequently held motionless. I discovered last time that there are very few back-stair windows along this stretch of track where all three factors apply, from which Cadogan West's body could have been placed upon the roof of the train."

"O' course..." _Zed, what is wrong with you?!_ "Sorry, shoulda known tha'."

Holmes looked at her consideringly. Should he...? "Well, dear 'boy', perhaps this is a good time to see how much you have learnt." He nodded encouragingly at the way ahead. "Find the location."

Her eyes went very round as she mouthed, " _Seriously? Bli-MEY_." It was simultaneously scary and uplifting—on the original round of investigation, he would never have done this. Heart hammering, she turned to face the tracks, took a deep breath, and willed herself to calm down and remember the story.

And then she realised: this area felt familiar. In fact, she'd been here already, on the other side of the houses. So how far from here, exactly, was the one they were looking for...? She started walking slowly along beside the tracks, glancing back and forth between the railroad and the backs of the fine houses on either side.

Holmes watched with the proud smile of a teacher watching a favourite student, while Smythe looked wonderingly between the pair of them, but said nothing.

Beth quickened her pace, and managed to keep her Cockney as she muttered. "In'ersection... where _are_ you?" Where was it, where was it, where was it... "Yew can' be very far..." And, sure enough, up ahead was a place where the lines ran in the open air and came to a point, and the houses were close up on either side. The architecture looked very familiar. "Tha's it!" She started running.

"Careful there, young man!" Smythe called, he and Holmes quickening their own pace.

"Yassir!" Beth shouted over her shoulder. Grinning, she skidded to a halt, the intersection directly ahead.

The two men rejoined her in a few moments, Holmes arching an inquiring eyebrow. "Well?"

Beth pointed. "Point... 'ouses..." She made a sweeping motion from the windows over the tracks to the tracks themselves.

Holmes nodded slowly, taking care not to stare at one window in particular. "But what makes you certain that _this_ is the correct address?" There were other places on the line with all three elements, after all.

She made a small "o" with her mouth—she'd forgotten that he didn't know she'd followed him that first night.

Beth's face... what did she know that he didn't? Holmes gave her a questioning look, resolved not to press her if she couldn't answer.

"Been 'ere b'fore," she murmured.

Holmes's eyes narrowed. _Before... oh._ "Why am I not surprised?" She'd never listened to him before that, why spoil a perfect record?

She managed to hold his gaze, though it still wasn't easy when he narrowed his eyes like that. He probably didn't even know just how intense his gaze really was. "Oi tried to... let yew know... But not in time..."

Holmes shook his head with a sigh, then smiled mischievously. "But there is one other way you could have known, a piece of evidence staring straight at you." If Watson were to include it when writing up the case...

She could only stare at him blankly, not at all remembering what she ought to be looking for. She couldn't even reason out what it ought to be. _So much for being a hardcore fangirl_...

Then again, it had been a long day for both of them. Taking pity on her, Holmes prompted gently, "The window..."

Beth frowned up at the buildings and shook her head. "Oi don't... oh." She saw it—the one window that looked different from the other blackened windows. "Oh, cor, the sill is smudged! The, ah, the ash! Soot." A body being pushed out a window would smudge the soot considerably.

"Precisely."

"Well done, young sir!" Smythe exclaimed, shaking his head in admiration, even looking a shade envious. "Looks like you've got a right promising apprentice there, Mr. Holmes!"

"Without a doubt," Holmes smiled, noting Beth's sudden blush with some amusement. "We have done all we can here, Mr. Smythe. Let us return to the station."

* * *

Back on the platform, Holmes shook hands with Smythe, smiling gratefully. "Thank you very much for your time and trouble, sir. Your assistance has been invaluable."

William Smythe was beaming from ear to ear. "A pleasure, Mr. Holmes, truly. The wife's never going to believe me when I tell her! A very pleasant afternoon to you both, sirs!" The official walked off, chuckling to himself.

Grinning from ear to ear, Beth waited until the man was out of earshot. "Aww, a fanboy!" Of course there were fans in this era—she could never forget the story of London turning out to wear black armbands in the wake of "The Final Problem"—but it was really cool to see it in real life.

His glare was only a half-hearted one, nodding down the street. "Time we were moving on." There'd been no way through to Caulfield Gardens from the tracks, and he had to make doubly certain that Oberstein had vacated the premises.

"Yessir," she drawled. As they headed around towards the street, she almost matched his stride. _I'm almost as tall as he is—how is he still all legs?_ "Lot nicer in the daytime, this place," she mused.

"Mm. Although I'll be glad to see the back of all this fog." Nine months of the damn stuff... He'd never be able to eat Mrs. Hudson's pea soup ever again.

Beth smirked. "I'm gonna miss it. Handiest thing ever." Her tone might have been light, but in a way, it was very true—she reveled in the weak sunshine, but the fog... the fog had been a friend.

 _Ah._ "Which is no doubt how you avoided my notice the first time."

She put on her most innocent expression and tone, belying the fact that she suddenly felt a good deal more exposed without the embrace of the fog and darkness. "What can I say: it's a positive life-saver."

His expression softened as he heard what she wasn't saying. "Very true." _And probably on many more occasions than you'll ever hear about..._ But this was hardly the time for speculation, they'd arrived at No. 13.

Beth studied the place in better lighting than she'd had before. "Nice. Almost kinda ritzy."

Holmes snorted as he bent to examine the front step. "Is that another term for 'pretentious Greco-Roman'?" Columns didn't belong on anything smaller than a bank, in his opinion.

She giggled quietly, then sobered. "Doesn't look like he's been home in a bit..." Of course, she knew he hadn't been, but the place just _looked_ dark and deserted. It was a little sad, really... she wondered what would become of the place at the end of this mess.

"Thus far." Holmes straightened and headed for the area, swinging himself over the railing.

Beth followed, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking for. For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted to be a detective, but she clearly had a long way to go...

Holmes examined the area door and the ground before it, peered through the grimy basement windows, but could discover no sign of any recent activity. "It seems that the bird has indeed flown."

"Good deal," she said softly, and yawned. And grinned. "And don't worry: tonight, I'm staying home."

He grinned back, concealing his sudden sinking feeling; he'd forgotten this was as far as she could go with him. "You still need to work on your acting, love, that sounded far too innocent." Back up on the pavement, he took out his watch, and blinked in dismay – he _really_ needed to grow accustomed to living in linear time again.

She looked at him curiously. "What?"

"It's later than I first thought – Mrs Hudson will have served dinner for everyone else half an hour ago." Of course, Watson didn't have to join him for at least another hour... There was no reason he and Beth couldn't make other arrangements in the meantime.

Oh, she hadn't thought of that. "Well..."

A bird whistle sounded nearby—a very _familiar_ bird whistle. She hesitated.

Holmes's ears had also pricked up – was that Kelly? "What is it?" he murmured.

Well, she needed to see what the Irregular wanted. "Give me a few minutes?"

"Certainly." What was she up to?

"Just a few," she grinned, and took off towards the Irregular.

Holmes seated himself on a nearby bench, passing the time by taking out his notepad and scribbling a note for Watson. _D_ _ining at Goldini's. Please join me there as soon as you may. Bring my kit with you and a revolver. — S.H._

Ten minutes later, he looked up at the sound of footsteps, and stared to see Beth approaching, looking _very_ different from when she'd left him. True, he'd seen her dressed up before, but never in Victorian clothing! The hat suited her perfectly, and what he could see of her dress beneath the long coat... _Mouth closed, you idiot, you're gawping._

Beth smiled shyly. Just the way he was looking at her took her breath away, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and nothing else mattered. It was almost overwhelming.

"Beth..." Holmes smiled back foolishly, still recovering. "You look... You look lovely, my dear."

She didn't know where to look—the adoration in his eyes was too much; she still didn't know how to cope. "Thank you," she said softly. "It's not, um, it's not the nicest dress I've ever had, but, um..."

He took her hand and kissed it, wishing fervently that he dared do more, even with the lingering fog shielding them.

Beth could only blush and wish for another kiss—public Victorian propriety was going to take a _lot_ of getting used to.

"And as I was about to mention, there is a pleasant little Italian restaurant just down the street from the station."

Beth grinned. "Oh, I know. And so does Sally. She used the amazing psychic abilities she picked up from Kathy to read your mind and send one of the boys over with a decent change of clothing for me."

Holmes blinked, then started to laugh. " _Cherie_ , sometimes I honestly do not know whether to be reassured or terrified by your and Sally's knowledge of my published cases." He offered her his arm, shaking his head. "Watson has much to answer for."

Beth smiled, slipping her arm around his. "I wouldn't argue too much with his stories, sweetheart," she murmured. "They're important to far too many people, myself included."

He gave a resigned nod, sighing. "I believe I encountered most of them in '69." The main reason he'd been reluctant to attend Brett's performance at Wyndham's Theatre... "Don't ask, _please_."

She gaped. "Oh, not fair! You do _not_ mention something like that and then try to get out of saying any more about it, mister!"

Holmes shook his head firmly. "If you wish for more details, ask the Doctor."

Beth growled in frustration, huffed, and started to think out loud. "Let's see, 1969..." She nodded slowly as she cast her mind back over the timeline of Sherlockian filmography. "I can see how that would be traumatic... That was before the revival in the 1970s, and the only major actor at the time was Peter Cushing!" She gave an exaggerated shudder—she respected Cushing as an actor, and thought he made a fantastic villain in _Star Wars_ , but... She blinked. In 1969, the most well-known version of Sherlock Holmes aside from Basil Rathbone had been much, _much_ older than the real deal was now. "Oh my _gosh_ , you poor thing!"

He nodded mournfully, though rather impressed at her line of reasoning.

She gave a sympathetic laugh—his reaction was kind of cute. "Aww."

"Dare I ask how many actors have... caricatured Watson and I since Gillette?" At least Watson had gotten off lightly in meeting Edward Hardwicke. Let him find out about Nigel Bruce's performance, however, and there would be trouble for somebody...

"Umm... dare I say that nobody really knows for sure?" She had definitely not winced at the word _caricatured_ , nope, not a little bit. "Well, okay, maybe _somebody_ does... But... we're looking at well over a hundred, and that's just on screen, doesn't even count theater or radio. I think people largely stopped counting after the year 2000." She gave a genuine shudder as she thought of Sherlock seeing some of the adaptations she had. "And you do not _ever_ want to see some of the stuff that was produced between 1969 and my time. Check that: half. No, maybe most. Hm..." She wondered how he'd react to things like _The Great Mouse Detective_ or the BBC's _Sherlock_ or Sir Ian McKellen in _Mr. Holmes_...

"Beth?"

"Hm? What?"

"Apologies, my dear," Holmes smiled, "but you looked lost in thought. We have arrived." He opened the restaurant door and bowed her inside.

* * *

 **Ria:** *hugs the Holmeses* So glad we could give those two a more traditional proposal, even if it did happen a little late. And more case-solving, squee!

Thanks to all our readers for waiting so patiently for the next chapter, Dr. Reality's been a right thorn in the side the last few months.

 **Sky:** *groans* True, dat. And, heck, it was fun just to have some happy moments with the Holmeses again, the poor things. *joins the group hug*

Here's hoping the next chapter will come much more quickly!


	8. Storm Brewing

**==Chapter 8==**

 **Storm Brewing**

 _It's not the pain I'm afraid of; I know about the pain. What I'm afraid of is the end of this small, sweet dream._

– Stephen King, Rose Madder

Beth felt positively radiant as she stepped into Goldini's, and yet another part of the 'Bruce-Partington Plans' story. John had described the restaurant as 'garish', but it looked respectably fancy—the kind of little Italian place perfect for couples going out on dates. (No, she most certainly did _not_ have the song from _Lady and the Tramp_ running through her head. Not even a little bit.)

The proprietor came forward as Holmes followed Beth in, beaming and executing a deep bow. " _Buona sera_ , Mr. Holmes, signorina! Your usual table, signore?"

"Thank you, Bartolo," Holmes smiled, returning the bow. "I hope you are well? I am sorry that Mrs. Goldini is indisposed."

Bartolo blinked, then laughed. "Most kind, signore, _grazie_! Follow me."

Beth sighed, shook her head, and looked down, trying not to smirk. She nudged Sherlock, murmuring fondly, "Incorrigible."

Holmes smiled mischievously, handing Watson's note to the proprietor for delivery once Beth's hat and coat had been taken. "Bartolo's mother suffers from chillblains," he murmured back, pulling a chair out from the table for her. "The scent of liniment is unmistakeable."

Beth smiled as she settled into her seat, taking care not to wrinkle her dress unnecessarily. "Well, this is nice—we haven't done an actual restaurant before." As much time as they'd spent together, it seemed weird, but they'd always ended up in inns or pubs before.

"No, indeed." He pushed her chair in again and seated himself, chuckling silently at a sudden thought: "In fact, this must be our first _official_ date anywhere."

She nodded and grinned. "Kind of weird, considering how much time we've spent together already, but yeah." She laughed sheepishly, suddenly feeling massively self-conscious. "And I have _no_ idea how I ought to be acting considering that it _is_ my first date ever, not to mention the fact that we're already married!"

"Well, it's my first as well, _cherie_." It was a relief to know he wasn't the only one who was nervous. "But I wouldn't have thought either of us needed to act any differently." He reached over the table to take her hand in his. "I am just happy to be here with you."

She smiled adoringly, reveling in the freedom to do so. "Me, too, honey." She squeezed his hand and exhaled forcefully. "I guess I just… need to get used to feeling like a normal human being again." After all, she'd lived almost a year of her life in hiding and on the run, and half that time pretending to be another gender.

He nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "I suppose we all do." _But Beth especially..._ Damn, those nagging doubts _would_ creep back again at the first opportunity... and Holmes couldn't very well dismiss them, not with Beth sitting in front of him, still so thin and pale and worn... _Just look at her, she's exhausted, what are you doing, dragging her along with you like this, don't you think she's had enough of being a hero? No one ever asked her if she wanted to be one, she did what she had to because there was no one else... but it's not like that any more, is it?_

She tilted her head slightly, smile fading as she noticed the shift in his mood—and it looked as though it wasn't a shift that boded anything good, either. "What's the matter?"

He looked at her awkwardly; this hardly seemed the time or place, not when they were finally able to have a quiet moment alone together... And how on earth was he to put his concerns into words that wouldn't hurt her, hadn't he caused her enough pain for one afternoon?

She bit her lip. Something was definitely wrong, and zed, there'd been enough of things being put off already... "Sherlock," she murmured, "please."

No getting out of it, it seemed... Holmes sighed deeply, squeezing her hand. "Beth... do you... do you miss your home?"

 _Home_. She stared at him for a long moment, dread coiling cold in her stomach and sending her pulse racing. "Yes… of course…"

He looked down at the tablecloth, reddening. "Of course, I'm sorry, that was a foolish question. Only... it didn't occur to me until quite recently... just how much you'd be giving up to stay here with me..."

She shifted awkwardly, paling, heart still pounding an uncomfortably rapid rhythm. All this time, she'd tried so hard _not_ to think about her family, her home, her own time—it had been too painful, especially since there'd been a strong possibility that she'd never see them again, and she hadn't even said goodbye... Then she'd married Sherlock, and she'd known that was a commitment, not just to him but to this era. _Trying_ to push away the memories hurt, but she didn't know what else she was supposed to do... "Mm..."

His own heart sank, her reaction confirming his fears. "I'm sorry, Beth... It's just as you said, you've had so little time to adjust back to a normal life – and you were still so young when the Doctor came back for you..." He still couldn't understand what the Time Lord had been thinking, would a few more years' wait have hurt anything?

Eyes wide, she began to tremble. "Sherlock?" she said uneasily, the cold in her stomach creeping up to coil itself around her chest, tightening it. "What are you saying?"

"Beth, when we married, neither of us could tell if there would even _be_ a future ever again... and I can't help wondering if it was selfish of me to marry you under those circumstances..." He had to force out the words he would give anything _not_ to say: "and if it would be... equally selfish to hold you to those vows now." Now that she _could_ go home... _and might very well have to..._

Beth felt herself go white to the lips, her mouth moving soundlessly for a few seconds before she could even speak. _He doesn't want you after all, what a surprise... Stop it, I know he does! ...everyone will always leave you alone in the end, even him..._ She shook her head. "N-no… don't… don't say things like… like that…"

"Love, I am truly sorry to distress you, but it must be said." To say nothing would be far crueler in the long term. "We may have married in haste, but I won't have you repenting at leisure." He managed a smile, though as fragile as eggshell. "I want you to be certain that this – not a life together, I know you want that – but a life in this time and place, away from the life you once knew, will not be too great a sacrifice." ... _I don't want you to go, I don't want you to go..._ "The last thing I want is for my wife to spend her days feeling as if she's in exile."

Her vision blurred; she had no idea what to say. She felt as if a knife was lodged in her chest, twisting further in with every breath she took. Leaving Sherlock now would most certainly kill her... but living the rest of her life without her family? Without her brothers, hellspawn though they could be sometimes... without her little sister, even with constant arguing... without Geoff, her co-conspirator and her role-model, though she really would die before admitting it to him... Without Daddy, and all their arguments but also all their shared enthusiasm over old things and a certain amateur detective... without Mama, and all her smiles and laughter and love...

She stood abruptly. "I... I... need to..." _Need to get outside before I break down completely and make a scene._ "Sorry..." She hurried past him and out the door, unheeding of the cold, moved to the nearest spot of wall and slumped against it. _I can't I can't I can't I can't_... She'd been without her family too long. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Taken entirely by surprise, Holmes just sat there for a long moment, wondering bemusedly if he ought to follow _... Oh, for God's sake, you fool, get after her!_ He hurried out into the street, very relieved to find that she hadn't gone far, but appalled to see the state she was in. "Beth!" He drew nearer and reached out to her, insides twisting at the sound of her sobs. "Oh, Beth, love..."

She looked up and all but fell into his arms, burying her face in his chest. "I don't… know… I… don't…"

He held her tightly, rocking her. _My poor darling..._ "I'm sorry, Beth, I'm so sorry!"

She clung to him, sobbing out all the loneliness, homesickness, and heartache she'd kept pent up inside for so long. "Please say you want me," she gasped out between sobs. "Please just say you want me..."

Blinking back his own tears, he rubbed her back gently. "Always, dearest..." Dear God, that he had caused her to doubt it even for a moment... " _Always_."

She calmed ever so slightly at that, nestling deeper into his hold. _He loves you he loves you he loves you_... The sobs finally began to fade to hitched breaths, and she had to gasp to catch her breath, shuddering. Her legs buckled then, even though she was barely holding her weight—she'd simply exhausted herself like she hadn't done in a very long time.

Alarmed, Holmes wrapped his arms around her more securely, murmuring, "It's all right, love... I've got you..." She was trembling like a leaf – exhaustion? Cold? God, when had she last eaten, for that matter? _And you thought_ _ **you**_ _could look after her? You can barely take care of yourself, Watson can't spend all his time nagging the pair of you._

"I'm sorry," she murmured weakly. She couldn't even have waited to fall apart until they were back in 221B—she'd just _had_ to do it in public, oy...

He shook his head, saying firmly but tenderly, "You've nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. It should be me begging your pardon, this has to be our most disastrous night out since the Garrick Arms." Trying to outdrink his own actor – what _had_ he been trying to prove?

She took a second to recall—she'd all but forgotten the name of the pub from the 1980s—and gave a sobbing laugh. And shivered at the cold. "Sherlock," she began slowly, hoarsely, "I can't... I can't decide... _I can't_..." Either path would require far more sacrifice than she could even bear considering. Losing Sherlock and Sally and Will and all the boys, or losing her parents and her siblings and just about everything she'd ever known... It was impossible; nobody could make that call.

"Well, let's go back inside, at least," he frowned. "You're freezing." Temporal dilemmas could take a back seat to avoiding hypothermia, for a while.

She shook her head. "Just… just to get my coat… I think… I need to take a raincheck… on dinner…" She wasn't hungry in the slightest anymore, and right now, bed seemed like a very good idea. "I'm sorry..."

Holmes nodded, trying hard not to look disappointed. "It's all right, Beth. Go on, I'll hail a cab."

She was already starting to feel like a heel for leaving him like this, and the look in his eyes only intensified the feeling. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Moving away, she swayed for a moment, then caught her balance and hurried back into the restaurant on unsteady legs. She picked up her coat and put it on slowly, mechanically, feeling numb and detached from reality.

Glumly scouring the murky street, Holmes let the first hansom pass by largely on autopilot. He couldn't blame Beth for having no appetite, not when his own was nonexistent just now... but to be leaving in such distress, and all because of him...

Seeing Sherlock standing there, looking so despondent and alone, pierced right through Beth's numbness, making her heart ache. _How can I leave him? I can't... for his sake as much as my own..._ She could never forget how devastated he'd been when she was dying... Returning to him, she linked her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder.

He squeezed her arm, leant his head against hers. It was all so _unfair_... Beth had sacrificed so much, why should she have to give up so much more? But if it came to that... what if... what if he were to go _forward_ with Beth? They'd fixed the broken Point, after all, his and Watson's friendship... so if he were to simply 'retire' after this latest case, _would_ it matter all that much in the grand scheme of things? Manuscripts of any future cases could be supplied from the TARDIS's library, and who would know the difference? Who was to say that they were real cases, anyhow? Readers would only have _Watson's_ word for that... It wouldn't even be a paradox, not really, just a time loop, and they'd all had experience with those...

"Third cab?" Beth murmured, her voice cracking slightly.

He nodded. "Time may be repaired, but I still have enemies..." _And Moriarty is still out there, of course..._ And Beth was about to return to Baker Street unescorted. "Perhaps I ought to ride back with you. I can leave a message for Watson to wait for me here."

She shook her head. "I'm not sure you have time, honey, and I'd rather not risk something happening to the timeline on my account. Besides, I _do_ have a revolver on me..."

Holmes sighed, but he did know from experience that Beth was a crack shot. "If you are certain." Though he suspected that she simply wished to be alone for a while to think things over. He desperately wanted to tell her what he was considering... but it wouldn't be fair to raise her hopes yet, the Doctor could so easily forbid it.

She nodded wearily—she certainly didn't want the timeline breaking _again_ because of her. "I'll be fine, sweetheart, promise."

He kissed her hair, then groaned inwardly as he heard a third hansom drawing near, reluctantly releasing her to flag it down.

She shivered as he let go, almost changing her mind. In their travels through Europe, they'd been with each other almost constantly, and she'd grown so used to his being there all the time that she didn't want to part from him now for even a little bit.

He handed Beth up into the cab, kissed her hand. Her fingers were as cold as ice... "Goodnight, Beth." _Please don't go..._

She smiled faintly at the kiss, feeling a tiny bit better for it. "Goodnight, Sherlock. I love you."

"I love _you_." He managed to smile and wave as the cab set off, still uneasy – but time _was_ growing short, and Watson would be arriving any minute now. Once the hansom had vanished into the fog, he gratefully returned to the warmth of the restaurant and ordered himself a plain espresso, vainly trying to avoid gazing at Beth's empty chair...

* * *

Despite his delight to be back in 221B once again, Watson had been waiting impatiently all afternoon for the summons to rejoin Holmes. When at last it arrived, he wasted no time in gathering up Holmes's burglar tools, stuffing them into his Gladstone bag, and heading off for Goldini's, all but vibrating with excitement the whole trip there.

Entering the restaurant, he spotted his friend immediately and went to him. Holmes looked lost in thought, brow creased, rubbing his chin. "Evening, old man," Watson said cheerfully. "How goes it?"

Holmes looked up, half-startled. "Ah, Watson – my apologies, do sit down."

Watson took a seat, studying his friend and not liking what he saw. "What's wrong?"

Holmes shook his head with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Nothing that won't do for another time, old fellow." He signalled the waiter again. "Please, join me in a coffee while I update you on the case."

Watson raised an eyebrow, sighing. "Very well, but then you tell me what's wrong. I don't want whatever it is to be eating at you when you should be concentrating on something which I'd imagine no respectable citizen should be doing." He was trying to keep a straight face by the time he was finished.

"Quite right," Holmes answered ruefully; not that he wasn't grateful for Watson's concern, but he hadn't yet grown accustomed to discussing matters of such delicacy, even with a trusted friend. He gave the doctor a sheepish grin. "And hopefully with better results than the last attempt."

Watson returned the smile. "I'm sure there will be. Now, what are we doing tonight?"

"As you've no doubt guessed, paying a late visit to Oberstein's lodgings. Mycroft's message informed me that he had left for the Continent before the investigation began, and my... our earlier reconnaissance confirmed it. He has no reason to fear a warrant, so hopefully we'll be able to lay our hands on any incriminating correspondence."

"I was afraid," Watson said ruefully, "that you were going to try to break in a second time—Sally told me about the first." Poor Holmes: that must have been beyond galling to be caught in the act like that, and denied his investigation. "I suppose I'll have to stand watch for that bobby?"

"If you'd be so kind?" Holmes sighed. "I bear that constable no malice –" In a just world, he ought to be commended; "but I should prefer not to tangle with him again."

"Of course." Watson couldn't resist adding, "Though I hope you have a good speech prepared for Lestrade tomorrow along with whatever evidence you find."

Holmes laughed, insensibly cheered by the thought. "Given what is at stake, Watson, I feel quite sure he'll be willing to turn a blind eye _this_ time. Observing the back of Caulfield Gardens from the tracks, it is clear that my theory about how West's body came to be on the carriage roof was correct – the trains often halt directly beneath the back-stair windows, and even through the fog, it was plain to see that the soot coating the sill of No. 13 has been smudged considerably. I confidently expect to find further evidence of the murder once we have gained entrance."

"Well, you seem to have hit upon it, all right." It was good to know that some things really never did change. Watson hesitated, then said gently, "I gather Beth won't be joining us this time?"

Holmes sobered, frown returning unconsciously. "I'm afraid not – she didn't wish to be a distraction at a crucial moment..." _Or perhaps she just wanted to get away from you after making her think you didn't want her any more..._

Watson tilted his head. "Or to reveal something which she ought not?" Although he had a notion that the issue ran deeper than that—Holmes looked far too despondent for the matter to be so simple.

"Precisely." Holmes tried to smile, with little success. Having to doggedly retrace his every step since this morning had been immensely frustrating, and this newest worry wasn't helping.

Watson hummed thoughtfully, then sighed. "Holmes, I don't mean to intrude, but I can't help feeling that you're not altogether... here." _In spirit, you're with your wife, and something is wrong_.

Holmes flinched, Watson's words echoing the very question he'd been pondering. "Watson, the... the truth is, that wedding invitation may have been a little overhasty." Realising how that must sound, he added hastily, "Not that Beth or I have had a change of heart on the matter, far from it! I had simply failed to consider earlier certain... obstacles..."

Watson frowned. He hadn't seen his friend look this troubled since the aftermath of Polaris 7. "Her old life and her family?"

The detective nodded miserably. Beth's face as she wept in his arms... "And that's assuming she'd even be allowed to choose!"

Watson looked down, remembering all too vividly his despair when he was sure that he could never have a future with Sally. "...surely there must be something that can be done." He lifted his head again. "Holmes, I can't imagine that the two of you could come together so... so rightly... only to be pulled apart again."

Holmes gave his friend a quavering smile, wishing that thought was more comforting. "Perhaps..." Shamefacedly, "I haven't dared ask the Doctor about it yet... and... oh, Watson, even if he said 'yes', how could I ask Beth to make such a choice?!" _And has it occurred to you that if you did have the option of going with Beth, that leaves the Watsons alone here?_ It seemed that whatever was decided would end up hurting _someone_...

Watson shook his head mutely. It was not simply that there wasn't a good answer to that question, but that there was _no_ answer to that question. "I... I don't know," he said softly. Poor Holmes and Beth—Watson and Sally had been very lucky. "I wish I did..."

Holmes slumped in his chair, murmuring bleakly, "I know..." He heaved a deep sigh and returned reluctantly to the present. "But in any event... it will be rather a moot point if we don't get on and solve this case." No telling what might happen if they... if _he_ failed again, and so soon after Time had been repaired.

Watson nodded slowly. "Have you had any dinner?"

"I've not had the appetite..." Holmes held up a hand to forestall any protest. "But I promise I shall at the next opportunity. Will that satisfy you?"

Watson sighed. "I suppose it will have to do. When do we leave for Oberstein's?"

Holmes drained the last dregs of his espresso. "Whenever you are ready."

Watson shrugged, but his eyes were alight with excitement. It had been so long... "More than ready."

Despite his anxiety, the detective's own eyes glinted as he stood – he'd been looking forward to this moment all day. "Then let us be off."

* * *

Things had wound down in 221B: the Irregulars had left for the evening, Watson was gone, Holmes and Beth were gone, and an exhausted Nikola was fast asleep on the settee in the sitting room. And as much fun as it was to talk with Sally and George in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, the Doctor felt restless. Thus, he left for the evening and stepped out to work on the TARDIS. A moment later, a voice came calling out of the fog, crying for help. _Help! Yes, good!_

Everyone _but_ him had had a hand in resetting Time, and he was beginning to feel superfluous. He ran towards the sound, straight into the murk of London... and the next thing he knew, he was being knocked to the cobblestones, a needle slipping into his neck. _Oh no... you have to be kidding me..._ Whatever it was, the sedative was more than enough to put out a Time Lord, and the already-dark world went black.

* * *

 **Sky:** Oh _no_ , just when things were okay, all this drama had to happen! Poor Doctor! And the poor Holmeses! In the original version of the restaurant scene, Holmes and Beth weren't even married yet, and it was all cute and happy. But in the final cut, heavier stuff had to come out. Definitely hurts to write, tho...


	9. Deal With The Devil

**==Chapter 9==**

 **Deal With The Devil**

 _Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing._

– George Orwell, 1984

Beth came to slowly, groaning at the throbbing in her head and the way the insides of her stomach seemed as though they were sloshing around. But as she regained consciousness, she realised that everything was very wrong: her pain and discomfort... the fact that she'd been sleeping at all—when had that happened?! And her wrists... her wrists felt... _bound_...

Startling awake, her eyes snapped open, only to stare at the man before her, a man she'd fervently hoped never to see again. She gave a cracked scream, recoiling in what she discovered was an armchair, heart pounding almost in her throat. _Not him not him again no no no I was going home no!_

Greatly enjoying her instinctive reaction, Moran gave the girl a wolfish grin. "Welcome back, my dear."

She struggled to get herself under some kind of control, for her own sake as much as for not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her so badly shaken for one more second than she had to. But she was trembling uncontrollably, heart thumping wildly, head too light and spinning, bile rising in her throat. She closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her gorge down, on regulating her breathing so that she didn't faint. She wished she could have curled up in the chair to be more comfortable, but with her hands cuffed behind her, that would be impossible to manage.

"I trust you are well?" The Colonel's solicitous words were completely at odds with the relish in his voice. It seemed an age since they'd last seen each other...

"...burn in hell," she managed weakly, once she was satisfied that she wouldn't faint or vomit.

Moran tutted. "Now, now, child, no need to be uncivil. My apologies for shooting you, by the way – I'd quite been looking forward to getting better acquainted on the return journey." Having had opportunity to reflect, he now deeply regretted not shooting Jones instead of himself and blaming his colleague for the blunder. The girl's corpse could even have accompanied him and Holmes, for a time...

Beth shuddered at the thought of being trapped in close quarters with Moran for days. _Please let someone realise soon that I'm missing—how long_ _ **have**_ _I been missing?_ Sherlock would come for her, right? Once he knew she was missing, he'd have to know it was Moriarty.

She gave Moran the most scornful look she could manage in her current state and looked away. _Don't let him get to you don't let him get to you_...

The Colonel chuckled. "Still the little firebrand..." He reached out and grasped her chin, forcing her to look back at him. "By God, girl," he said softly, looking her over with undisguised regret, "if he didn't want you undamaged..." For now, at least...

Beth could feel what colour she had left drain completely from her face. _"Don't fret, little one... It'll all be over soon..."_ He had to let go of her soon; he _had_ to, or she would break, she knew it. She'd be begging and babbling for him to let go, even though she knew it wouldn't do her any good—the feeling of his hand clamped around her face was literally maddening. "...why?" she whispered hoarsely. _Why does he want me so badly? Why does the Professor?_ Sherlock might say that she was special, but she was a long way yet from really believing him.

He tutted again, smiling, letting go of her chin to pat her cheek affectionately. "Patience, little one – good things come to those who wait..."

* * *

The Doctor groaned as he drifted towards consciousness, head aching something fierce. And there was... something... heavy... around his neck... He startled fully awake and started to rise... and the next moment was sent back to the floor by a jolt of electricity coursing through his body. The heavy something on his neck was an all-too-familiar slave collar, the original of what Bernice Partington had put on him in 1988. "Oh, not you again," he muttered.

"Forgive me, Doctor..." Moriarty had been narrowly watching from across the room, and now came forward slowly. "But I really cannot afford to take more chances on you than necessary." He sighed as the Doctor tensed at his voice, shaking his head with a brittle smile. "You can't imagine how it pains me to stoop to such measures with so _distinguished_ a guest."

The Time Lord raised himself slowly, carefully, finally standing and relieved at not having triggered the collar again. He smiled tightly, refusing to let Moriarty get to him this time. "I'll bet." He tapped his fingers gingerly on the collar. "Hmm, I'd say... Nygishosh Slave Collar Make VII... three centuries old at least... way out of date. The Make XIII's are so much lighter—built-in comlink, too." He tapped further around and hit the hinge, which sent a small shock through his hand. "Oo, yeah, there it is," he hissed, biting his hand briefly to help stand the pain. "Nasty little thing, this."

Moriarty's eyes were cold, though his smile remained, voice losing a good deal of its original charm. "If you've quite finished posturing, Doctor, perhaps we might get down to business." Ironically, "My time, sad to say, is rather limited." He felt quite sure that the Time Lord had already been informed of his condition, even if he hadn't sensed it for himself.

The Doctor's own eyes turned cold. "Yeah, I noticed. Hope you've got your will in order."

The Professor arched his eyebrows. "Oh, I hardly think that will be necessary."

The Doctor shook his head, frowing in disbelief. How could anybody – even a human – be that stubbornly blind? "You don't _get it_ , do you? When your time is up, it's _up_ – and to be honest, I think Reality's had enough of putting up with you." Couldn't the man feel the strain he'd been putting on the time-space continuum?

Moriarty's eyes narrowed, half tempted to trigger the collar himself just to make a point. "Then it is just as well I don't intend to ask its permission." He turned and beckoned the Doctor to follow him into the next room, a much larger space, with Tesla's recovered machine sitting in one corner. "I believe, Doctor, you are familiar with this particular piece of technology?" He added acidly, "It certainly bears your signature." Finding such a work of genius all but disemboweled would have made a lesser man weep.

The Time Lord raised his eyebrows and shifted his jaw. "If, by bearing my signature, you mean I made sure that a highly volatile and dangerous machine wouldn't be able to work again, then yes." Just looking at the thing brought back visceral memories of the storm brought on the Rift energy, the debilitating flash of pain that came from the Doctor touching little Nikola, the boy transforming back into a man... Moriarty really had no idea.

"Then you'll be glad to hear that we've made improvements to the Rift cells since then. Ironically, the energy becomes much less volatile when infused with gamma radiation. Of course, that does not solve the more immediate problem."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "The more immediate problem that you've got nothing more than scrap metal for the Rift energy to work through? Yeah, I'd say that's a problem, sorry to hear it."

Moriarty's faint smile was belied by a voice full of quiet menace. "You shall be a great deal sorrier, Doctor, you and your Companions, if you are foolish enough to disappoint me."

The Doctor folded his arms, refusing to let the man _or_ the memory of their previous conversation get to him. "It's not going to work, don't you get it? Time's up—and you've had plenty of it. What you want or what I want doesn't enter into this—you can threaten all you want and it's not going to change the fact that, yes, you are about to die."

"You seem to have misunderstood me, my dear Doctor," Moriarty answered coolly. "I never threaten." Holmes could have told the Time Lord that – like his protégé, Moriarty had never bluffed in his life. "I highly doubt the damage you did to Tesla's machine is irreversible. It should be a simple matter for a man of your talents to restore it to working order and reprogram it for my use."

The Doctor stared. "Why the _hell_ would I do that?! You've got the collar on me—fine, use it." His voice dropped in volume. "I would _never_ help you, not after everything you've done, _especially_ to Holmes and Watson." His poor boys... they'd suffered so much, and just thinking about it made him furious—with himself, somewhat, for letting it happen, but mostly with Moriarty.

Moriarty's smile widened in spite of himself – the Time Lord had no idea... "Oh, I rather think you will, Doctor... because of what I can still do." He activated his pager. "Moran?"

" _Yes, sir?"_

"Would you please bring in the young lady?"

The Colonel's grin was audible. _"Right you are, sir."_

* * *

"Well, let's not keep the Professor and his esteemed guest waiting, shall we?" Moran rose, grasped Beth by the hair, and pulled her to her feet.

She cried out and stumbled, legs unsteady from whatever she'd been drugged with. And being held in place by her _hair_ , with her hands cuffed behind her, did not give her much room to regain her balance, especially with her knees still threatening to buckle underneath her.

He gripped her upper arms to keep her upright. "God's sake, girl, if I have to carry you in..." Not that he'd actually mind.

Her eyes widening, she shuddered at the thought as she tried to regain her balance. "I have a _name_ ," she bit out. _I'm a person, and my name is Anakin... oh great, I'm loopy on whatever they gave me_.

Moran gave her a look of mock contrition. "My apologies, Miss Lestrade... or should that be Mrs. Holmes?"

She bit back an angry retort, unwilling to give him further opportunity to mock her.

"Odd, that... I never noticed any rings..."

She exhaled unsteadily. _No, no rings... and there might never be any_. She kept her lips pressed firmly together—she could only imagine the field day Moran would have with her common law marriage.

The Colonel tutted as they reached the door, the girl's reaction eloquent. "Dear me, he still hasn't made an honest woman of you? For shame..."

Beth gave in to her impulse this time. "Oh, and you'd know so much about that, wouldn't you," she said acidly.

"Knowledge, my dear," he purred in her ear, "that I'd be most happy to share..."

She shuddered, but turned her head to give him the most scathing look of contempt she could manage. "Over my dead body," she hissed.

Moran had to grin at that – from what he'd seen, death certainly became her. "Some other time, dear girl, you'll be late for your audience."

* * *

The door opened, and Beth and the Doctor saw each other at the same time, both freezing in horror. "Beth!" he said hoarsely.

"Doctor..."

The Doctor started forward, only to drop to his knees with a grunt of pain. _Idiot, you moved too suddenly_. Slave collars didn't like sudden movements.

"Doctor!" Alarmed, Beth tried to launch out of Moran's hold. How had they caught him? Why? What did she have to do with it? What the zed was Moriarty _doing_?!

Moriarty tutted as Moran tightened his grip on the girl's arms, hard enough to bruise and elicit a cry of pain. "As you can see, Doctor, I now hold the queen." He stood towering over the Doctor, eyes cold and hard. "Surely you would not wish her... damaged..."

The Doctor caught Moran's eye, and the predatory gleam he found there shook him. _No, not Beth, she's already been through more than enough...!_

Beth's heart throbbed painfully as she watched the Doctor crumple in on himself, everything in his face and posture seeming to accept defeat. Their eyes met, and his told her that he believed he had no choice. "Doctor, no!" Whatever Moriarty wanted, stopping him was worth more than her own safety—it always had been!

The Doctor shook his head briefly at her. To allow Moran to... to _damage_ her... was unthinkable, no matter what Moriarty wanted in return. This wasn't the end of the world they were talking about; the Professor could still be stopped. The Time Lord looked up at Moriarty. "You won't hurt her if I fix the machine?"

"Rather, I would say that her safety depends on your cooperation." Moriarty saw no reason to alter his methods, they had been effective enough with Holmes – and in such cases, the Doctor was even easier to manipulate.

The Doctor nodded slowly, not surprised. A continual hostage was much more practical than a one-off one.

"No!" Beth cried. Why wouldn't he listen to her—why didn't anyone ever listen to her?! "Please!"

The Doctor met her gaze again, and said gently, "Beth."

Oh, if she'd ever doubted the Doctor's love, she couldn't doubt it now. Her heart ached from hearing her name infused with it. She went still and bit back a whimper.

The Time Lord returned his gaze to Moriarty. "For her continued safety," he said grimly, "I'll do it." Refusing Moriarty wasn't worth Beth getting hurt, _especially_ not the way Moran proposed to do it.

Moriarty clapped his hands together once, the only outward sign of his exultation. "Excellent!" He nodded to Moran, who dragged Beth back through the door.

Still pale, the Doctor stared after the pair. He didn't trust that _pervert_ of a colonel one inch—he could only hope that Moriarty had the man under enough control. Taking a deep breath, he rose slowly to his feet, trembling ever so slightly and hoping it didn't show. "You said—" he cleared his throat; his voice was too high-pitched—"you said 'reprogram'. Why do you need it reprogrammed—it should still do what you want it to do."

Moriarty smiled faintly, the Time Lord's show of bravado was really quite amusing. "No doubt... if I still wished to remain human. I am quite certain that your knowledge of genetics is sufficient to combine my DNA with your own."

The Doctor's eyes widened, several choice Gallifreyan phrases running through his mind. _Well played, Professor, well played_. To grant someone like Moriarty the lifespan and full abilities of a Time Lord was unthinkable... but to allow Moran to have his way with Beth... so much more so...

"If the late Professor Warwick had retained his memory of the K'vir's collective knowledge, I should no doubt have found him most useful... but he did not, and you ensured that what was left of his mountain laboratory would remain beyond my reach." Lao-Tse's report had been unequivocal on that point: any attempt to blast through would have been disastrous in such terrain.

"I made certain that part of the Time War _ended_ with the— _late_ Professor Warwick? What did you do to him?!"

Moriarty pursed his lips in annoyance. "Really, Doctor, do you truly think so little of me? Warwick was no threat to my plans, far from it." The Professor shook his head. "Sadly, although the memories of his ordeal were erased, his thirst for knowledge was by no means diminished; and the growing rumours of mysterious yeti sightings in those parts proved too intriguing..."

The Doctor felt sick to his stomach. _It's on me, then._.. He'd thought he and Sherlock had managed to save the poor man, give him his second chance... The Time Lord strode past Moriarty towards the machine, muttering, "Yeah, well, can't imagine why I'd automatically assume the worst." His posture drooped further as he took in the state of Nikola's work—it was a bit the worse for wear now than when he'd left it. _Not to mention, how are you going to do a blood transfusion in the first place?_

He rested his forehead against the wall of the machine, trying to sort out in his head what he needed to do. "I'm going to need a full toolkit and a sample of your blood—if our blood types aren't vaguely compatible in the first place, it won't work." For the first time, he wished that Gallifreyans and humans weren't so genetically close after all.

Moriarty nodded, produced a small vial from his coat pocket and handed it over. "My staff have orders to provide you with whatever equipment you require –" He smiled mirthlessly, taking the Doctor's sonic screwdriver from another pocket; "within reason, of course."

The Doctor's face darkened for a moment at the sight of his beloved tool. "Right, okay." He pocketed the vial and turned back to the machine, grimacing. Getting the machine to fix Nikola's age had been one thing, but fixing it with pieces missing and making it do something completely different was another story. And even then, making it whole again would be the simplest part. "Just going to warn you right now," he said aloud, "I'm really not sure I can do this. Fix your issues, yes, can do, absolutely. Changing your _species_ , though... I'm not a geneticist." Sure, he'd changed _Juan's_ species, but he had already had the means to do so, the entire set-up intact and ready. Here, he'd practically be starting from scratch, and something told him that Moriarty wanted this issue resolved within the next few _hours_.

"None of us know what we are capable of until we try, Doctor..." Moriarty added casually, "but if you wish for fresh inspiration, say the word." He put the screwdriver into his top pocket so that the tip remained visible. "And now I must beg you to excuse me –" bowing, "I have other guests in need of my attention." He would only trust Moran to guard the young lady for so long...

The Doctor gritted his teeth. "What's the point? You're moving chess pieces all neatly into place, but the problem with that is that they're not _pieces_ —they're _people_. And you can only push people so far." _Especially_ Beth—he had already seen what lengths she would go to if she felt she had to.

Moriarty gave a quiet chuckle, turning to leave the room. "My dear Doctor, I'm counting on that."

* * *

"Well, that was a touching display, Miss Lestrade," Moran sneered, forcibly escorting Beth down the corridor. "You'd best pray the Doctor hasn't been out of commission so long that he's lost the knack of pulling miracles out of his arse."

"Oh please, he's been doing it for a thousand years—ten months is nothing," Beth gritted out. She understood _why_ the Doctor had given in, but it made her sick nonetheless to think about it. He'd surrendered just to keep _her_ safe, not that she felt very safe at the moment...

She tried not to stumble, but it was difficult, being off-balance, forced along, and her legs shorter than her captor's. She nearly tripped over her own feet, and only Moran's grip kept her upright. Naturally, he used it as an opportunity to brush his hand up the small of her back. She shuddered, a familiar reaction where he was concerned. "Why me, anyway," she said quietly.

"I believe he used the word 'potential'..."

She took a shaky breath. "I didn't mean Moriarty."

He looked at her strangely – did she really want to know? Oh well... "You remind me of someone." His voice softened slightly as he remembered. "She had such an exquisite scream..."

Beth paled again, jerking away from him as far as she could. Just when she'd thought he couldn't be more of a monster... "What _is_ it like to live with a hole for a heart?" she spat in disgust. She couldn't understand how anyone could be that psychotic, that thoroughly devoid of human decency.

Moran only answered with a nasty smile, looking at the appropriate spot on the girl's chest consideringly. _...struggling weakly beneath him as he pressed the blade to her throat..._ " _What would it do to him, I wonder... if I were to bring it back with me...?"_

Her eyes blazed—she was sick of being regarded as a _sex toy_. If she could have moved her hands freely, she would have slapped him. "I'm not your whore, Colonel," she said sharply, "and I never will be."

"Oh, I know, my dear," he purred. "You're _Holmes's_ whore. That's what makes it so _satisfying_..."

The fire in her eyes hardened to ice. "That's _wife_ , Moran," she said just as coldly. "There's a difference, but I guess I can't expect you to be able to grasp it."

The Colonel's eyebrows shot up. "Well, now," he said softly, "isn't that interesting?" And the Professor would certainly want to know about that, if he didn't already.

Beth made a noise of disgust and looked away. What she wouldn't give to rattle him out of that zedding condescension just once...

Moriarty raised an amused eyebrow as he entered behind them. "Well, I'm gratified to see that you two have been getting better acquainted. Miss Lestrade, a pleasure to see you again, and in such good health. " Interesting... the terror radiating from the young woman was almost tangible, but fury was a close contender. Clever girl, using her anger to control the fear. It seemed a rather different approach would be needed with this one...

Beth lifted her chin and smiled tightly, belying the pulse thundering in her ears. She had wished once that she wouldn't have to so much as _see_ James Moriarty ever again. "Forgive me if I can't say the same. "

"Mrs. Holmes has been a most charming guest, Professor."

Well, well... "I see. Then congratulations are in order." Moriarty bowed. "You must excuse the precautions taken with you, madam, but we were anxious to avoid any mishaps."

"Professor, I'm sorry," Beth said wearily, "but I'm American, and I'd really prefer that you get to the point." Just give her the worst right up front, please—she hated when things dragged on.

"In that case, Mrs. Holmes, " Moriarty smiled, "the point is quite simple: I should like to offer you a place here at Torchwood."

She couldn't help a short, derisive laugh. "You're _insane_ if you think I would _ever—_ "

Moriarty stepped in close, making her shrink back instinctively against the Colonel. "Oh, I think you will, Elizabeth Holmes," he said softly, raising her chin. "I know exactly what you want... and what you fear."

"I really doubt it," she said unsteadily, feeling trapped between the two men. Why did he have to touch her—it was making her skin crawl. _Please let go please let go please let go..._

She was caught off balance as Moran moved away without warning, the Colonel bringing back a chair and gesturing invitingly for her to sit. "Pray take a seat, Mrs. Holmes, you're quite done-in."

"No thanks," she said acidly. Despite her above-average height, she was smallish compared to the tall, well-built Colonel and the almost-Darth Vader-tall Professor. If she sat, they'd be towering over her; she knew a power play when she saw one.

"I'm afraid we must insist, dear lady." Moriarty gestured to Moran, who gripped the girl's shoulders and forced her down into the chair. "You look rather too pale and unsteady." It was rather fortunate that he didn't need her conscious for this...

Beth glared up at Moran, then turned back to Moriarty, who was lifting a hand towards her face. And she didn't know how, but she knew with absolute certainty what he was about to do. Eyes wide, she shrank back, pressing herself against the chair. "N-no, _please_..."

"Shhh." Moriarty stroked her cheek gently, then pressed his fingers to her temple, closing his eyes. Gaining entrance was even easier than he'd imagined, he'd been prepared to find some kind of shield in place... Foolish of Tesla not to have given her any kind of training in the art of defence.

Beth was only dimly aware of her eyes rolling back in her head as her world faded to black—and then _pain_ , as if a thousand icy tendrils had entered her head, paralysing and suffocating her and ripping her mind apart. She couldn't even scream...

It didn't take Moriarty long to locate the girl's memories, which for some reason appeared as a huge, flickering screen divided into sections, each one playing a different sequence of events. The Professor smiled as Beth's avatar materialised beside him, looking understandably dazed. "No library, my dear? You disappoint me."

Beth shook her head slowly, grimacing—everything felt... _wrong_. Not quite real. And what the zed was with the vidscreen? "Where... what..." She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying desperately to clear her head. Her mind felt thoroughly scattered; she was having difficulty thinking, and it scared her. Where _were_ they?

Moriarty waved a hand at the screen, and one 'channel' appeared in the centre, larger than the rest: a young brunette, nine or ten at most, curled up in an armchair, engrossed in a datapad. "Dear me... it seems we have here the beginnings of a life-long romance –" His faint smile became a smirk; "if a trifle one-sided."

 _Oh no... oh, dear God, no..._ They were in the centre of her mind, looking at her memories. She'd thought she'd forgotten the first time she read the Sherlock Holmes stories—they'd all blurred together in her mind. But apparently not enough... "No!" Surely there was some way she could make the screen go blank... but she didn't know how. Could just thinking about it work? She concentrated, pulled herself together as best she could... and managed to make the channel flash a bit with static. _Not nearly enough_.

Moriarty tutted in amusement, but made no move to stop her. "You really must do better than that, dear girl." She was certainly capable of it.

But Beth could only manage mere flashes of static: her mind still felt scattered, and it showed in the chaotic jumble of memories that ran across the screen. Watching her life literally flash before her eyes wasn't helping at all. "No!" She gritted her teeth, trying to push back at the ice that had settled into her head—Moriarty's presence. "Get out of my head!"

The Professor arched a challenging eyebrow. "I think not."

" _Elizabeth, is it not?"_

" _Just Beth."_ _The girl on screen smiled sheepishly at the man in fencing gear._ _"Hi."_

Still more fangirling, dear heavens... and just to add to the delicious irony, it appeared that Elizabeth hadn't even realised yet whom she was addressing!

Beth's breath caught at the sight of her meeting Sherlock for the first time. They both looked so much younger—there was so much that hadn't happened yet... A torrent of scenes filled the screen, all connected in some way to that one moment—memories from that time, memories from later on, memories from 1988 and from Frozen Time. "No..." What was her mind _doing_?! Why couldn't she make it stop?! "No, no, no!"

She gripped her 'head,' attempting to focus on making the screen explode, but the memories were too many, too powerful... and many of them, too painful. _"Sherlock, wait, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't—" "Or did my losing control to something other than cocaine shatter your illusion of the Great Detective?" "Oh,_ _ **please**_ _don't let courtesy stop you. You haven't yet, why start now?" "I do not wish you harm, but neither will I tamely submit to your... persuasions. Get out."_ Her concentration broken, she swayed and fell to her knees.

Moriarty tutted again in a fatherly fashion. "My dear, if this distresses you unduly, I feel sure I can spare you for a time." He waved a hand, and the surrounding darkness reached out and began to fold itself around Beth. "Run along."

"No!" Eyes widening, she tried to scramble forward, towards the screen, but the darkness clung to her, chilling her to the bone, dragging her back into itself. She couldn't even claw her way out. It was going to eat her alive... Instinctively, she reached for to the one person who could stop it. "Please!"

Coolly, Moriarty turned back to the screen, letting the darkness totally envelop her. The foolish child had best learn now that begging was futile, not to mention undignified.

Beth screamed, surrounded completely. She was floating weightlessly, cold, alone, unable to see her own body or anything else. She kicked and struggled, but nothing happened. " _Let me out!_ _ **Please**_ _let me out!_ _ **Please**_ _!_ "

Distantly, she heard strains of a familiar voice humming... Nikola, the Serbian lullaby she'd heard him hum once or twice... Zed, she'd missed him... "N-Nikola?" He didn't reply. Not telepathy, then... a memory. Oh, what she wouldn't give to have him with her right now...

 _Okay, calm down. It's just you now. You have to figure something out_. Well, Moriarty could effortlessly imagine things into existence here, and this was _her_ mind. Surely she could do the same!

Fire ignited at her fingertips, something she'd always wanted to do—she was a fantasy fan, after all. It didn't harm her, it was only imaginary... and so was the darkness. She thrust out her hands, setting fire to her prison. Flames surrounded her for a moment, and then she was falling and sprawling face-down on the floor before the vidscreen. She groaned: for all that this was her imagination, that landing _hurt_.

"Welcome back, my dear," Moriarty smiled. "I had hoped for a quicker response – nevertheless, an impressive re-entrance." He nodded up at the screen, now displaying the altercation on the lakeshore at Montreux.

 _"If... if I thought... that someone I liked... cared about me like that... if it meant that I wouldn't... always be... alone..."_

"Fascinating... I did underestimate you, Elizabeth, I freely admit it. Rest assured I shall not do so again."

A shiver crawled down her spine at his words as she watched the memory. "I don't—" she swallowed dryly, voice unsteady—"I don't understand." She pushed herself up to her feet, gauging her energy. Zed, she needed a minute; she felt properly exhausted.

"Your, shall we say, _influence_ over Holmes..." Moriarty watched the on-screen Beth kissing Holmes, a benevolent smile masking the strange burning sensation in his gut; "not to mention a considerable raw talent for espionage – you present me with a far more interesting challenge than your husband ever could have."

Beth shook her head slowly, heart pounding. "Yeah... not so sure about that... My track record's actually pretty weak." She practically had a predilection for getting herself caught, after all!

"Come, come, my dear. Modesty is a deplorable habit, and deceives no one." Moriarty furrowed his brow as if in thought. "What is it your husband is fond of saying? 'To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are.'" He allowed himself a faint smirk. "Did he ever tell you who taught him that?" Or how long ago...

Beth went very still, another chill going down her spine. She could think of only one reason why Moriarty would even ask that: if he had been the one to... Oh no. Zed... "No..."

Moriarty turned his attention back to the screen, arching a mocking eyebrow at the scene:

" _And since, even after everything I have done to hurt you, you are still brave enough, or quite possibly mad enough, to want me for a husband..."_ Hm, a 'serious lapse of judgement', indeed.

Beth's heart ached at hearing Sherlock's vow. "You're wasting your time, Professor," she said quietly, bitterly. Then she donned a falsely bright smile. "Can't be modest if you don't have anything to be modest about."

"Such _lies_ , Elizabeth..." Moriarty purred. He tilted his head consideringly as Holmes and Beth shared their first kiss as husband and wife. "And I think that shall suffice for the moment." Despite enjoying the girl's discomfiture, he really had no interest in seeing what was obviously about to happen next. A wave of his hand, and the screen returned to its former state.

"I'm not lying!" she protested. "I can't manage to keep myself from getting caught—I couldn't even stay _alive!"_ She couldn't stay alive even for Sherlock's sake when he needed her to the most. _Some job you did, restoring Time—you only got yourself shot and Sherlock captured._ "I'm really not that clever... or talented..." Her eyes burned with unshed tears; she was not going to cry, she was _not_... "I'm not worth your time..." Her voice broke, and she tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat. "I'm not worth anybody's time."

Although taken aback for a moment by the girl's vehemence, Moriarty's surprise quickly gave way to delight; his new protégé was, in a way, far more malleable than Holmes, she would require even less breaking in than her husband had! He reached out and gently grasped Beth's chin, who froze. "My dear, is this foolish obstinacy to be a constant in all our dealings? I do not waste my time in pointless endeavours, as you are already well aware." He felt her shudder as his grip tightened, tone suddenly growing cold. "Although you are correct in one sense. Your worth – or I should say, your well-being, and that of your friends – depends entirely on how valuable you are to _me_. Fail me as Holmes did, and..."

 _And he will make you wish he'd simply kill Sherlock and Sally and everyone, and just have done with it_. Out of all the many times she'd felt trapped, this one probably took the cake. But how could she willingly work for someone so evil? Even to save her friends and family... they would rather suffer the consequences than have her repeat Sherlock's mistakes... But judging from the look in the Professor's eyes, the consequences would truly be heavy...

She shook her head. "I _can't_ ," she said in a small voice. Closing her eyes for a moment, she gathered up the courage to say something that she'd wanted to tell him for a long time, especially because probably no one had _had_ the courage to tell him in a long time. "You're a _monster_." Her heart pounded rapidly, audible in her voice as she continued. "You're going to lose, because all you _do_ is destroy, and even if you don't lose... I'd rather die than sell out to someone as _evil_ as you."

He calmly heard her out, saying softly when she'd finished, "Such spirit... and when the world is torn apart by blood and fire and anguish, having kept your principles at the cost of millions of innocent lives will no doubt be a great comfort to you."

She stared. "What the zed are you talking about?"

"Come, come, my dear, I believe you know precisely of what I speak." New images appeared on the screen, some black and white, some in colour: marching lines of uniformed men and horses, monstrous rolling guns and tanks that belched flame and lit up the night, bomb-shattered buildings, vast pitted fields strewn with corpses... "A great war is approaching – that much is apparent to anyone who understands the political situation in Europe. And how long before it ensues?"

She shivered at the familiar footage. World War I had once fascinated her, but now... "A-a couple of decades."

"Indeed." A faint smile reappeared. "Dear me, twenty years... and I assume that you and your husband are planning to have a family at some stage?"

She felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. No, she and Sherlock might not even have a future _together_ , much less with children of their own... children who could grow up to get caught up in the tragic mess that was the First World War. "No."

The Professor's eyes glittered at her reaction. "And the Watsons, too," he mused aloud. "I can't imagine that Katherine will remain an only child for very long..."

Beth had a sinking, _sickening_ feeling in her gut. "Your point being?"

"Well, surely you would like to know what might become of your respective families... Allow me, my dear." The screen vanished, the pair now standing on the platform of a crowded London station.

It didn't take Beth long to spot what they'd come to see. Nearby stood older versions of herself and Sherlock, waving to someone as a train pulled out of the station. Out of a line of men in uniform, all hanging out the windows and waving goodbye, she caught sight of one soldier who could hardly have been older than she was now... One who strongly resembled Sherlock but had her brown hair and blue eyes. Her heart stopped for a moment, eyes filling with tears. _No_... He was beautiful, very much as she'd imagined her son would look, but his features cleaner and clearer than she could have imagined alone.

And with the rest of the boys of his generation, he was off to follow the Piper into war.

"Strange," Moriarty murmured behind her, "no sign of the Watsons... Ah, of course, John must have re-enlisted with his son months ago. After all, his old wounds don't keep him from active service any more, do they?"

Oh, zed, John _did_ sign up in 'His Last Bow'... She closed her eyes, trying to calm her too-rapidly beating heart. "This _isn't_ the real future," she bit out, "this is _you_."

"But knowing what you know, Elizabeth, of the future and of those you love, can you guarantee otherwise?" The scene changed again: they were inside an old church, now a makeshift hospital, rows of camp stretchers where the pews should have been... and an older Sally and Katherine Watson moving among the wounded in nurses' uniforms.

Moriarty frowned. "Dear me... Perhaps no one has yet realised that such buildings are prime targets for the German bombers..." He had to raise his voice as multiple sirens suddenly started wailing outside. "Not that it makes much difference – the Underground is all full up, in any case..."

Beth went white. It wasn't fair—of course she knew that everyone she cared about would be right in the thick of things because that was who they _all_ were. But to be forced to simply _watch_ , knowing she could do nothing to stop any of it... "No... Stop it!"

Pretending not to hear as the plane engines began to drone overhead, Moriarty turned away and walked slowly towards the door into the street. "At least the other Watson children are safe in the country..."

Beth remained where she was, torn: she wanted to shout at Sally and Kathy to get out, but it wouldn't make any difference. It was like a nightmare, and it wasn't any more real.

Then came all-too-familiar whistling sounds overhead—she'd seen too many war films not to recognise them—and massive explosions shook the ground. The explosions grew nearer, causing plaster dust to fall from the ceiling. Staff and patients alike ducked for cover, the cooler-headed ones trying to shelter those who couldn't be moved. Kathy glanced around furtively, then took advantage of the distraction to call up her healing powers without anyone noticing, moving to use them on one particularly bloodied soldier who looked to be literally on his last limb. The young Time Lady was too distracted herself, absorbed in her task, to notice the sharp crack of timber as a beam in the ceiling above her began to give way.

Beth was scared into screaming her name and running forward. "No, Kathy, get out!"

But Kathy couldn't hear her, and the next explosion was close enough to knock the beam loose, sending it crashing down... The next moment, everything froze: the beam, all the people, the noise, the shaking, as if a video had been playing and someone pressed the _pause_ button. Beth stopped, stared, then whirled around, screaming unthinkingly, "STOP IT!"

Moriarty halted in the doorway, sternly addressing her over his shoulder. "As I have been trying to make clear to you, Elizabeth, that is exactly what I mean to do." He turned, tone softening slightly. "And you may well be correct... perhaps the end cannot truly justify the means..." He looked pointedly over at Katherine; "but it is no doubt far easier to make such a judgement when you do not have to live with the alternative."

Just looking at Kathy, seeing that future, was almost too much for Beth to bear... she was practically a second mother to the baby, family in every way that counted. _Maybe... one last sacrifice... before he rips away your last leg to stand on..._ "Maybe I don't have to," she said shakily. She could have sworn her heart was throbbing in her throat at this point. "How deep are we? In my head? I could shut things down, not wake up again."

The Professor's lips twitched. "Well, then?" He had seen the memory of her threatening to shoot herself – but now, with so much more to lose?

She narrowed her eyes, then closed them in concentration. _I can do this—they'll understand_... She and Moriarty must have been very deep in her mind, because she found herself simply floating deeper in still, her body slowly but surely shutting down around her, easily influenced at this point.

Moriarty merely laughed as her avatar flickered and slowly became more transparent. A brave effort, but he doubted her resolve was nearly as strong as she believed. Now, what memory to send after her... ah, yes...

" _Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai..."_

Beth stopped. _Sherlock_... No... she couldn't leave him again—would he even try to survive this time? _But I can't give in; he'd understand that, he wouldn't want me to give in..._ But she couldn't leave him; he needed her... Half against her will, she fought against the current she'd created, rising back up into her dream avatar. She was aware of a tear slipping out from beneath her dream eyelids, not awake enough yet in this state to open her eyes. _Oh, Sherlock_...

Strangely, she suddenly heard children's voices, singing:

 _Tick tock goes the clock  
to have a family thrilled him  
tick tock goes the clock  
until bereavement killed him_...

She jerked awake, scrambling upright, staring at Moriarty. "Stop it!" She pushed herself up slowly to her feet. "How would _your_ world be any better than that war?!" she said derisively. "You sure weren't even trying during Frozen Time—the whole world was going to hell in a hand-basket, and you did _nothing_!"

Moriarty shook his head almost wearily. Nothing? She had _no_ idea... "Was that a rhetorical question? Or are you genuinely prepared to discover that for yourself?" He held out his hand to her. "At the very least, it will be a world in which humans needn't wear metal tags to have a name on their grave marker."

Beth shrank back from his hand. _A world in which neither my son nor Sally's would have to wear metal tags..._ She closed her eyes. _You know better than this... you're an idiot... I know..._ If she gave in, she might not even ever have a child... but at least the Watson children would... would be safe. The Irregulars would be safe. "You wouldn't touch any of them," she said slowly, voice low and deep. Any higher and she'd be crying—or maybe screaming, she didn't know. "Ever. Not my children, not the Watsons'. You don't... you don't come near them, you don't so much as say one word to them."

He nodded solemnly. "Very well." A reasonable enough request, he might have demanded the same in her position.

She opened her eyes. She felt sick but left with no choice—it wasn't so much that he called any bluffs as that he completely destroyed all real attempts at fighting him. And the images of her son and Kathy were going to stick with her for a very long time to come... She took a shaky breath and continued, "And all children of mine are Sherlock's only. Biologically. No one else's." Not Moran's—he could not bed her at all, ever. She would not be responsible for what happened if he tried.

A slight huff of laughter escaped him. "My dear girl..." She did have a point, however... "Yes, yes, as you wish. Shall I take that to mean I have your full cooperation?"

She gave him a brittle smile. "Doesn't look like I have much of a choice."

There seemed little point in denying it. "Let us return, then." Perhaps withdraw a little more carefully than when he'd entered...

* * *

Moran had held Elizabeth's head as Moriarty entered her mind. As the meeting of minds progressed, he was pleased to note that the Professor was smiling with growing confidence as the girl's distress increased; she was breathing hard, a soft whimper escaping every so often. And then... his smile widened as she silently began to cry.

Moriarty opened his eyes a few minutes later and lowered his hand, his own breathing slightly irregular, but his expression triumphant. Elizabeth came to next moment with another gasp, eyes hollow, a sob escaping before she could stop herself.

"Shh, little one..." The Professor gently brushed away her tears, then looked up to meet Moran's eye, clearly quite satisfied.

Beth bowed her head in shame as Moran released her, breath hitching. Moriarty placed his hand on her head and stroked her hair soothingly. "Colonel, Mrs. Holmes has just entered the family, and I shall need you to keep watch on her for a while longer. You may do what you wish with her, but do be aware that any children she bears in the future must be Holmes's. Heaven knows you have enough scattered across the globe. "

Moran grinned wickedly, but didn't deny it. "As you wish, Professor." He removed one of his hands from the girl's shoulders and caressed her neck, relishing the delicious shudder it drew from her. At last...

"Very well, then." Moriarty stroked Elizabeth's hair one last time. "I have business to tend to."

Beth raised her head only a fraction at the Professor's bow, and as he left the room, Moran was amused to see the girl trying to curl up into a ball, despite the cuffs. He slid his hand up her neck, coming to rest under her chin, forcing it upwards. "Don't worry, my dear," he murmured in her ear, pulse quickening at the scent of her, natural perfume mingling headily with her growing terror. "I'll have you feeling right at home soon enough..."

* * *

 **Ria:** No extended scene this time, folks, even we're not that sadistic. Nor are we inclined to leave our audience with _that_ kind of cliffhanger, so next chapter's available now.


	10. Any Means Necessary

**==Chapter 10==**

 **Any Means Necessary**

 _Courage isn't having the strength to go on – it is going on when you don't have strength._

– Napoléon Bonaparte

Both Holmes and Watson were all but nodding off as the cab rolled to a stop outside 221B. The break-in had been a complete success with Watson standing sentry, Holmes taking great care this time to allow the constable's footsteps to die away in the fog before jemmying the area door open. As he had suspected, there were indeed traces of Arthur West's blood upon the kitchen stairs and the windowsill; and they hadn't long to wait before a train halted under that very same window, the rounded roof of a carriage less than five feet below. Far more satisfying than that confirmation, however, had been the discovery which saw them hastening to the Daily Telegraph office, mercifully still open at this ungodly hour... before heading... back...

Watson jolted fully awake when the cab stopped, and patted his friend's shoulder. "Come on, old man, we're home." And didn't it feel lovely to say that... He got down and waited while Holmes paid the cabbie, then walked up the steps to unlock the door. Yawning, he glanced up at the lighted sitting room windows and frowned. "Holmes, what time is it?"

Holmes dug in his pocket for his watch. "Nearly midnight – I do hope Beth hasn't waited up for us." Though he wouldn't be surprised if she'd simply been unable to sleep...

Watson shrugged, unlocking and opening the front door. "It's probably the Doctor." He stepped inside and lowered his voice. "Although Katherine is still waking in the middle of the night sometimes."

Sally came down the stairs, relieved to have her husband safely home. Smiling, she held a finger to her lips and whispered, "Evening, gentlemen. Or should I say, 'Good morning'?"

Watson returned the smile. "Good evening, love." He met her on the stairs and kissed her.

"Beth has turned in, I trust?" Even the settee would be fine with Holmes just now.

Sally's smile vanished with her good mood, tensing. "I thought she was with you."

Holmes's head snapped up, eyes wide. "She isn't back yet? "

Sally's eyes were just as wide, her heart suddenly pounding rapidly. "When was she supposed to come back?"

"Beth's unaccounted for?" Nikola appeared at the top of the stairs, bleary eyed and frowning.

Watson nodded anxiously up at him. Beth _couldn't_ be in danger now, not again—she had literally returned to life not twenty-four hours ago!

"I saw her off myself from the restaurant, hours ago..." The blood drained from Holmes's face, sick with horror. "...oh God, _no_..." What _had_ he been thinking, it was madness to have let Beth travel anywhere alone! Moriarty had chosen his moment perfectly...

Sally went white, feeling lightheaded with terror. "She didn't... didn't come... oh, God..."

Watson grabbed Holmes's arm, supporting him and then sitting him down on the stairs. "Steady on, old fellow. Deep breaths..." He lowered his voice to a comforting murmur, belying his own fear. "Beth's alive, Holmes, she must be. We're going to get her back, all right?"

Holmes nodded jerkily, instinctively obeying _. Moriarty doesn't want Beth dead, remember? You_ _ **can**_ _still help her... but only if you calm down and_ _ **think**_ _, you're no good to her like this!  
_

Hastily seating himself on the stairs, Nikola closed his eyes and concentrated the hardest he ever had, although with little hope of success. He still couldn't understand why he hadn't even sensed Beth being taken, from her or the TARDIS! Unless... unless Moriarty had somehow taken advantage of his exhaustion? The Professor _could_ conceivably have jammed Nikola's 'radar' while he slept – it was only a mercy he hadn't done anything else!

Trembling, Sally sat down heavily two steps up from John and Sherlock. _Not Beth, not again_... She had to be all right—she had to be! For more than just her own sake... Poor Sherlock—Sally knew all too well what he must be going through right now.

Nikola reluctantly emerged after a few seconds, shaking his head. "I can't sense her –" adding hastily, "Holmes, no, I don't mean _that_! When she went to rescue you from Torchwood, she was out of my 'sight' then, too. Moriarty has some kind of shield over that place, I can't penetrate it from the outside."

Holmes sagged in relief, feeling marginally less ill than he had a moment ago, then pursed his lips thoughtfully. "But from the _inside_? " Whatever defences Torchwood might have in place, the detective was certain they were no match for the TARDIS.

"Has anyone seen the... Doctor...?" Coming up from the kitchen, George stopped dead on seeing the grim gathering on the stairs. "...oh no..."

"Beth is missing," Sally told him. He paled—she had noticed he'd grown pretty attached to the only other born-and-bred American in the gang...

Watson frowned. "Where _is_ the Doctor?" The Time Lord's absence was suddenly very conspicuous.

"He went out to do some work on the TARDIS after you left, but there's no sign of him! And the TARDIS sounded awfully worried when I asked her, though I couldn't make it out exactly..."

Nikola was already hurrying down the stairs, dashing through the house and out the back door with Holmes close behind.

Watson followed after, silently praying that they hadn't lost both Beth and the Doctor. If they had, heaven only knew how they'd manage to get them back!

"Wait." Holmes hauled Nikola up by his shoulder at the back door, bending to check the ground ahead. Damn, there'd been so many people coming and going in the last few hours, including the Irregulars. Further on, however... "Ah!" One set of tracks had suddenly veered off from right in front of the TARDIS, down Siddons Lane towards Regent's Park.

Nikola waited for the detective to move off, then entered the TARDIS, who burst into a flurry of concerned twitters. "Yes, _draga_ , we know. Can you help us get them back?"

The console flared to life with a determined string of beeps and whistles: _You know how to fly me, little one._

Nikola smiled, touched. "It would be an honour."

Outside, Watson hesitated for a moment, knowing that Nikola might well get the proper information more quickly, but followed Holmes. "Is it the Doctor's trail?"

Holmes halted at a muddy patch of ground, pointing to a clear impression of the toe of a left shoe, with a very distinctive tread. "Well, I highly doubt anyone else in this time period wears converse trainers."

"Good point."

 _Gather at the control room, everyone – council of war_.

Startled by Nikola's call, Holmes hesitated, reluctant to leave any potential evidence... but there really was nothing else they could do here, no amount of clues on the street would help them get Beth or the Doctor back. _On our way._

 _I can't come_ , Sally sent back in frustration. Was it always going to be like this? When her husband or her best friend was in danger, was she always going to have to stay behind? _I need to stay with Kathy_.

"Well, perhaps we could wake Mrs. Hudson?" George certainly wasn't about to tell Sally not to take part in this mission!

Sally was genuinely tempted for a moment... but only a moment. Kathy understood a _lot_ but not always—sometimes, like every other baby, she just wanted her mother. And it would be beyond inconsiderate to wake Mrs. Hudson, especially when Sally didn't even know if she herself was needed. Considering how little experience she had in the adventure department, she didn't think she was, and she didn't want to be a liability in a bad moment. She shook her head. "No, I should get back up to the baby..." She closed her eyes against the tears welling up in them. _Come on, calm down, you'll wake Kathy if you go up upset_.

George raised Sally to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. "It's going to be all right, Sally – they'll bring her back safely, you'll see."

She wiped away her tears and hugged him tightly back, biting her lip and nodding. "I'm scared," she whispered. She was terrified for all of them.

"Have faith, sweetheart. Trust me, Moriarty's in way over his head with both Nikola and the Doctor!" George hoped he sounded far more confident than he felt. He'd seen the end result of what Moriarty had done to the Doctor... and Nikola's gift, although decidedly useful in a tight spot, was also purely defensive.

Sally smiled wanly for George's sake. He was so sweet, and he always had been. She didn't feel any better, but she also didn't want him to worry about her. "...I'd better get back upstairs before the baby wakes up."

George let her go, smiling proudly – at a time like this, staying out of a fight took just as much courage as being on the front line. Heading back out to the TARDIS, he found Holmes and Watson already in the control room with Nikola, the telepath running his hands lightly over the console. "Nikola, is she in any kind of shape to make it to Torchwood?"

The TARDIS twittered at him cheerfully before Nikola could answer.

"Sounds like a 'yes' to me," Watson said wryly.

Nikola left off reacquainting himself with the controls. "But before going anywhere..." He looked at Holmes and Watson gravely. "Are either of you aware of the full extent of Moriarty's... abilities?"

Watson frowned. "His psychic abilities? I was under the impression they were quite extensive." And they could not have been bestowed upon a less worthy subject...

Holmes mirrored the frown. " _How_ extensive?" Fool that he was, he'd never so much as questioned whether Moriarty might have more mental powers!

"Well, his time sensitivity probably went dormant along with mine when Time froze, but it will have reactivated since. And yes, there is more... I saw what Moriarty did to the Doctor after we lost contact." Nikola shivered. "To cut a very unpleasant story short, Moriarty is capable of getting inside someone's head and making them experience their worst fears. I will do everything I can to protect all of us, but if that isn't enough..." At the very least, they should all be prepared not to trust their senses.

Watson paled. "Good God... "

Holmes's face was grim – he didn't dare allow himself to imagine what Moriarty might be doing to Beth... "Well, then... it's a good thing we've already lived them, for the most part."

Watson winced—a month ago, in Frozen Time, he would have agreed, but he was a father again. If he was made to feel the fear of losing his child for a second time, he didn't know _what_ he'd do. "Not… not entirely… "

Holmes reached out and grasped Watson's shoulder, his tight grip eloquent: he, too, would do whatever it took to keep their family safe.

George didn't need to be a telepath, either, to know which way Watson's thoughts tended; to him, Sally and Beth had become like the daughters he'd never been blessed with. "Well, you've got one less to worry about, Nikola – someone has to stay here with the other women." If Moriarty had learnt about Kathy, he wouldn't put it past Torchwood to wait until the TARDIS had gone before attempting another kidnapping.

Watson turned to the American in sheer relief; he knew that his wife could shoot and hit a target, but he felt better with her having backup. "Thank you, George."

Holmes turned to Nikola. "Well, it seems safe to assume that Moriarty knows you and George are here in London."

Nikola nodded ruefully. "And he'll probably be expecting me to fly the TARDIS. Unfortunately, walking straight into the dragon's mouth is the only option we've got."

Watson sighed and dragged a hand down his face—he'd been afraid of that. In the past, Holmes had occasionally had very definite plans of attack in dangerous situations, but in more cases than Watson would ever publish, they would run into danger and trust to their luck. He had never enjoyed it in the past, and he didn't look forward to it now. "I don't suppose we have any notion of what to do beyond that? "

Holmes shook his head miserably. "I wish I did." Of all the worst possible times not to have a plan...

"Although given Moriarty's talents," George hastened to point out, "you're probably better off improvising, anyway."

Watson nodded, grimly conceding the point, and then the next moment, the TARDIS twittered urgently.

George gave the console an apologetic smile. "That sounds like my cue. Good luck, gentlemen." He shook hands hastily with the other three, then headed out.

As George closed the door, Watson drew his revolver and checked it: the barrel was loaded. Good.

"Right." Nikola closed his eyes and took a deep breath, meshing his consciousness closer with the TARDIS. It seemed far too long to him since he'd last done this... "Hold tight, you two, this could be a rough ride."

Expecting that, Watson nodded and moved over to one of the struts to grab it.

Holmes grabbed for the handrail, trying to respond lightly, "Oh, we're well used to that."

Watson gave a strained chuckle, recalling the shock of his first flight. Looking to Nikola, he said, "Ready when you are."

The telepath crossed his fingers, murmuring, "All right, _draga_ – let's do him proud." He threw down the lever, and the TARDIS shuddered into the Vortex. She was still so weak... Nikola patted her console encouragingly between flipping switches, keeping his feet with difficulty. _Easy, sweetheart._

A strained but grimly determined bleeping came back: she would hold together.

Holmes exchanged a look with Watson; this was the first time they'd seen anyone besides the Doctor flying the ship before, and it was an awe-inspiring sight!

Meanwhile, Nikola swore under his breath, this wasn't nearly as easy as it might look. _Hi,_ _ease up on the space-time throttle,_ came a sudden voice in his head, _you're going to overshoot._ The telepath looked up sharply and saw a vision of his child self also standing at the console, indicating the right control. _Second gear will do_.

Nikola laughed under his breath, resetting the lever, and began the landing sequence. _Thanks._ "All right, everyone, brace for impact, we're going in!"

"Believe me," Watson called back, "we're always ready!" Although it _had_ been such a long time… The chaotic motion of the TARDIS almost felt comforting after having been earthbound for so long.

"For what it's worth..." Holmes muttered. He could tell himself until he was blue in the face that Moriarty wouldn't allow Beth to be harmed unless he had no alternative... _But what if he doesn't?_

* * *

Moriarty's voice sounded on Moran's device. " _Colonel, we're ready to begin. Would you care to join us?"_

Moran scowled faintly at the interruption. "Delighted, sir. Shall we, my dear?"

 _Oh thank God_. Beth said nothing but gave the tiniest nod. She was exhausted and upset—and very much traumatised for life—but above all, deal or no deal, she really was going to _kill_ Moran the first chance she got. _I wonder what's going on now?_ She was afraid to find out; it couldn't be anything good. But even if she didn't want to see the Professor again right now after what happened in her head, she really did not want to spend one moment more alone with the complete _bastard_ he called his right-hand man.

Moran wrapped his arm around the girl's waist, raised her and pulled her tightly into his side, caressing her hip. His smile became a leer as she shuddered involuntarily. "I hope you've enjoyed yourself as much as I have, my dear – we must do this again soon."

Beth hissed through gritted teeth. "Still burn in hell," she said in low, raw voice.

"As long as you burn with me, sweetheart…" he murmured back as they left the room.

* * *

After a stressful hour, which was really phenomenal time even for a Time Lord, the Doctor had Nikola's machine ready not only to cure Moriarty's aging but also transform him. At least, as much as the Doctor could figure: it wasn't as though he could properly test it. He knew, too, that Moriarty was working against a tight deadline: some psychics actually knew the exact date of their death, and Moriarty knew his. It was past midnight now... so that date was today.

A door opened, and Moran entered, pulling Beth close along beside him. She wasn't holding her head up, but the Doctor could see that her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was damp with sweat. _Oh, Beth, no..._ So much for 'safety'.

Moriarty turned, smiling. "Ah, good. I trust you two behaved for each other?" Although it was clear that Moran had behaved precisely as instructed.

"Mrs. Holmes has behaved admirably, Professor. She'll be a great credit to us, I believe, given time."

Beth raised head fractionally at that, flickering a glare up at the Colonel. Only her fear of the Professor kept her mouth closed when she so dearly wanted to snap back at Moran.

At the same time, the Doctor paled. Of course he'd known Beth's raw potential all along—but he'd never even thought about _Moriarty_ recognising it, much less wanting to ensnare her for it.

Moriarty smirked, opening the capsule. "Indeed." Looking hard at the Doctor, "You are quite certain this is ready?" He didn't yet have the power to break past the Time Lord's impressive mental shields unassisted, but one look in the man's eyes was enough: too much barely-contained fear to entertain any notions of betrayal.

The Doctor clenched his jaw, but unclenched it to speak. "As certain as I can be." He'd done his best, but at the end of the day, it was still a gamble and Moriarty _had_ to know that.

The Professor nodded – as much as it galled him, he didn't exactly have any alternative! – then turned to nod at Moran.

The Colonel nodded back, jaw tightening as Moriarty climbed into the capsule and shut the door after himself. He might not approve, but God help the Doctor if anything were to go wrong, accidental or otherwise...

The Doctor powered the machine up, glancing over at Moran and Beth as he did and catching Moran's eye. The warning in the soldier's eyes was clear, and it angered the Doctor to see it, after what Moran had clearly _already_ done to Beth! "I said I'd do it, and I did," the Time Lord said tightly. "And it looks like the meaning of 'safety' is even more elastic than I thought."

Moran arched an eyebrow, daring the Doctor to comment further; he should be grateful Beth was still all in one piece. "Get on with it."

The Doctor started up the sequence, and decided he could push just a bit further. "Holmes _is_ going to kill you, you know." After what Moran had already done to Beth and was still doing to her, there was no way he was coming out alive of his next encounter with Sherlock.

The Colonel's eyes narrowed. "An impressive feat for a corpse."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow in return and smirked slightly. _"I have never loved, Watson,"_ the story version of Holmes had once said, _"but if I did and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done."_ A man who had technically murdered, but killed the murderer of his beloved the exact same way the murderer had done. Moran really had no idea...

Familiar blue lightning began to arc around the machine, sparks of static discharging off of everything and everyone.

Moran's eyes bulged at the display, it all looked far too much like the early Rift energy experiments for his liking... and then his hand clapped automatically to the handle of his revolver at the sudden scream of agony that echoed from inside the chamber.

Beth stiffened, grimacing in sympathy—even if it _was_ Moriarty screaming! As the sound continued, she wished she could cover her ears, tears involuntarily springing to her eyes.

The scream cut off abruptly, and the machine powered down. The Doctor exhaled grimly, hoping that Moriarty could make it out of the chamber on his own. He didn't want a repeat of the psychic flash between him and the young version of Nikola; nor, he was sure, would Moriarty.

Moran slackened his grip slightly on his still-holstered firearm, though not allowing himself to relax yet. "Is it done?"

The Doctor nodded tersely. When Moran gestured impatiently for him to open the chamber, the Time Lord did so and stepped back. Moriarty was crumpled on the floor, face-down but still breathing, but the Doctor still made no move to help him—he didn't dare.

"Get him out of there." Moran would have done it himself if he'd thought he could trust the Time Lord or the girl one iota.

The Doctor sighed. "I don't think I can. If I so much as touch him, it could be devastating—we're both telepaths. " Who knew how Moriarty might react in an unguarded moment like this?

Moran gave the Doctor a look of deep suspicion, but then nodded to one of the armed guards, who put away his weapon and came forward.

"...Director?"

Moriarty stirred as he felt himself being lifted, eyes fluttering open. He felt... light... so _light_... as if a lifetime of crushing weight had just now been lifted from every inch of his frame, his mind... Dear heavens, his _mind_... What had once been such exquisite but maddeningly faint music was now a _symphony_... He swayed slightly as he stood with help from the guard, half drunk on sheer sensation, his new, younger body thrumming with energy, a four-beat rhythm pounding in his breast... _It worked..._ A breathless laugh escaped him. _It worked!_

"Sir?" A relieved but still wary Moran caught Moriarty's eye as he turned.

Moriarty bestowed a benevolent smile on his lieutenant, touched by the obvious concern, and replied simply, "It worked. All of it." Even the sense of urgency had blessedly faded from what he had unconsciously begun calling his 'appointed hour'; he could now all but _see_ his newly regenerated timeline stretching ahead of him, decades upon centuries upon millennia... What couldn't a being such as he achieve with such a gift?

Beth glanced back and forth between the two men, eyes wide—there was definitely more to this than she was being let in on. It wasn't just Moriarty's ageing being fixed, and not because the man looked no older now than Sherlock...

Moran nodded slowly. "Your orders, then, Professor?"

Moriarty drew the sonic screwdriver from his coat pocket, toying with it, then looked back up at the Doctor. "Our guests must be seen to their quarters." He pointed the multitool at Tesla's machine to close the chamber, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Elizabeth. "It's been a pleasure, Doctor."

The Doctor lifted his chin, eyes blazing. Of course it was possible for humans to use the sonic screwdriver, but for Moriarty to have used it so effortlessly... use _his_ favourite tool so effortlessly... "Forgive me if I can't say the same."

"And I am afraid I have one more request to make of you, but it may have to wait a few hours."

The Doctor eyed the Professor warily. "What is it?"

"I require a piece of coral from your TARDIS." Moriarty was certain that Tesla would be flying the Doctor's ship here in due course, although for some strange reason he couldn't see precisely _when_...

The Doctor paled, eyes widening at the pure avarice gleaming in Moriarty's. "No." _Beth, not even for your sake_... The lifespan of a Time Lord was one thing, but the Doctor _would_ be damned before he gave Moriarty the means with which to change all of time and space to suit his whims.

Meanwhile, Moran had reholstered his gun, tightening his hold on the girl's waist. "Time for bed, little one..." he whispered gleefully in her ear.

Beth's last bit of self-control _snapped_. She screamed in pure frustration, twisting suddenly and violently, trying to ram her elbow into his stomach.

Cursing, Moran let go and backhanded the little bitch across the face, knocking her to the floor with a cry of pain. **  
**

"Beth!" The Doctor started forward, only to be stopped once again by a debilitating jolt of electricity.

"What the _devil_ …!"

The Colonel was pulled up short by Moriarty's tone of icy fury, eyes glinting. "Pardon the interruption, Professor – the girl still needs breaking in, it seems..."

Gasping in pain, Beth rolled onto her back and glared at Moran, her eyes burning with so much hate that she could have burnt him to ashes if she'd been able to. Then, she felt a piece of discarded wire beneath her hands. _I have hairpins and I know how to use them_... She slid it into her sleeve and positioned the tip at the lock of her cuffs, sliding it in and beginning to work at them. She didn't know exactly what she would do once the cuffs were open, but she wasn't going to throw away this unexpected bit of luck.

The Professor's eyes narrowed, studying the pair intently. Moran's preoccupation with bedding his enemy's wife _was_ bordering on the verge of obsession, a distraction Moriarty would be ill-advised to tolerate... On the other hand, his new protégé's willful streak did need managing. In fact, now that he considered the issue, there seemed no particular reason for a newly-born Time Lord to honour any agreements he might have made in his unrefined human state. "In that case, Colonel..."

 _VWOOORP! VWOOOOORP!_


	11. Ascension

**==Chapter 11==**

 **Ascension**

 _Some of the greatest battles will be fought within the silent chambers of your own soul._

– Ezra Taft Benson

The Doctor's eyes widened. _Oh, good man, Nikola!_

Beth looked around, almost not daring to hope... But the old blue box was slowly flashing into view, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Do _not_ shoot yet," Moriarty said sharply as the TARDIS fully materialised, seeing that Moran had drawn his revolver again, the guards readying their own weapons. The ship might be impervious to most weaponry, but he wasn't about to risk any collateral damage from ricocheting bullets.

* * *

 _(Scene rating: V)_

Nikola patted the console, murmuring, "Well done, sweetheart."

The TARDIS let out something that sounded very much like a relieved sigh, followed by urgent and concerned twittering.

Watson peeled himself off of the strut he'd held onto, and drew his revolver again. "Yes, indeed," he said gravely in response to the TARDIS, her meaning only too clear, "and we shall take care."

 _Whatever happens, draga, do_ _ **not**_ _let him in._ Nikola smiled at the sense of grim determination the ship sent back. Even if worst came to worst and she was forced to let Moriarty enter to save a life, the Professor wouldn't like what he found waiting for him...

The telepath took another deep breath, infinitely thankful for the reassuring touch of the TARDIS in his mind – she might be physically unable to protect all of them, but she could at least help him to stay strong and focussed. He would need all the help he could get... "Ready, you two?"

His companions nodded solemnly, Holmes silently praying for a miracle to whoever might be listening. _I'm coming, Beth._ He headed down the ramp with the other two close behind, opened the door and stepped boldly out.

"Good evening, gentlemen."

Holmes stared at the even younger looking Moriarty; the Professor's quietly triumphant smile turned his stomach almost as much as Beth bound and on her knees beside Moran, the Colonel holding her by the hair...

Beth was grimacing, Moran's grip none too gentle, but she forged ahead with her cuffs, as carefully as possible. Her heart leapt and just as quickly plummeted at the sight of her husband. _Oh, love, I'm so sorry_...

Watson took in the scene with a sharp intake of breath, feeling sick at the sight of Beth and the Doctor held captive. Not even the least bit of dignity allowed to either...

Moran's face was impassive, eyes glinting a clear challenge to Holmes as he twisted Elizabeth's hair tighter, the girl's strangled whimper music to his ears.

Holmes made no sound, but went very still, his own eyes gleaming pure murder at the Colonel before looking down at Beth's tear-filled ones, expression softening. _Don't be afraid, Beth, I_ _ **won't**_ _let him have you..._

"Ah, Mr. Tesla." Moriarty bowed slightly as the inventor exited after Dr. Watson, noting his pointedly shutting the TARDIS door behind him with amusement. "An honour to meet you at last."

Nikola didn't return the bow, frowning as multiple alarms started going off inside his head, and he hadn't even attempted to touch minds with the man. For some reason, Moriarty felt even more _wrong_ than the three girls had as paradoxes... and yet so incredibly... familiar... oh no... that aura... _Dear God, Doctor, he_ _ **didn't**_ _..._

The Doctor tried to reply, but though the words formed in his head, he couldn't transmit them. He stared at Nikola, wide-eyed: he'd never been _unable_ to communicate telepathically before, and he had no idea whether it was Moriarty or the slave collar that was jamming him. Well, great, this situation just took on a whole new level of bad-to-worse. He gave the inventor an infinitesimal nod, though, wishing he hadn't given in to Moriarty in the first place. It was all too clear that Beth's well-being was thoroughly compromised no matter what, and now the greatest criminal mastermind in human history was a Time Lord.

"You have my thanks, Mr. Tesla—your machine worked to perfection." Moriarty felt tolerably sure that the telepath was already aware of his new condition, although it galled him far more than he cared to admit that he couldn't get close enough even to sense the man's emotions, how...?! Ah, of course, the TARDIS must bolstering Tesla's mental shields, most ingenious. _You win this round, milady._ But there were other ways to bypass an enemy's defences...

"Well, perhaps you'd care to repay the debt," Nikola answered grimly. "Let Beth and the Doctor go, and I'll consider us even." Not that he actually expected the Professor to keep his word, but keeping Moriarty's attention might help him to stay under the new Time Lord's radar, the TARDIS could only do so much. _Beth... Beth, can you hear me?_

"In a week's time, I shall be more than happy to let Mrs. Holmes go, provided that she returns when I call for her. However, I am afraid that the Doctor must stay, and the TARDIS with him."

Holmes gritted his teeth, forcing himself to speak calmly. "What do you want with them?"

The headache Beth had already been suffering suddenly throbbed fiercely, and she heard Nikola's mental voice, but as if from a distance. She gritted her teeth—easy enough to explain away: the pain from Moran's grip alone was unrelenting. _Nikola. Yes_.

Moriarty shook his head. "Come, come, Holmes. I cannot reasonably be expected to allow the Doctor freedom of travel, and I require the talents of your bride. She _is_ willing, are you not, Madame—" Turning to Elizabeth, he frowned as if noticing her position for the first time. "For heaven's sake, Colonel, do allow the young lady her dignity."

Beth sagged a little in relief as her hair was released; and the Colonel looked none too happy about having to do it. The pain in her head faded to a dull throbbing. She would have risen to her feet if her hands weren't cuffed, but she was still working on it and trying to look as still as possible.

"Much better. As I was saying, Mrs. Holmes's abilities will be a welcome addition to Torchwood."

Holmes nudged Watson's foot with his, then sent the thought urgently: _Nikola, get me through to Beth._

 _Holmes, I don't think..._ Too much mental traffic and all their distractions might not be enough.

 _Do it!_ Holmes's 'voice' softened as he sensed his beloved's presence. _Are you all right, cherie?_

Watson narrowed his eyes, taking the metaphorical baton from his friend. "To what purpose?"

Beth's eyes widened slightly to hear her husband's voice in her head. _Sherlock! I... I—no... but I've almost worked myself out of my cuffs._

"Why, to the purpose of staving off the Great War, of course." Even Dr. Watson must have learned about that by now.

The Doctor's eyes widened—he hadn't heard about this. "Are you insane?! You can't rewrite history like that!"

 _That's my girl._ Holmes gave Beth a proud smile in his thoughts, keeping his real face expressionless with great difficulty. What he wouldn't give to have had as much practice as the others!

"You of all people should know better, Doctor," Moriarty answered sternly, "considering the war that you yourself went through. Even I have no wish for the senseless slaughter of millions of lives over mere feet of ground on the Continent."

"And Reality is still suffering from it," the Doctor retorted. Moriarty certainly had no right to speak of a war even he couldn't really begin to fathom, especially to justify his new scheme to break the time-space continuum. "You could push the universe into a total event collapse!"

While still keeping contact between the Holmeses, Nikola dared to reach out to the guards, sizing up their defences. Oh dear... It looked as if Moriarty had deliberately chosen the most psychically gifted among his staff for this encounter. Nikola would have to take all three completely by surprise if he was to even the odds in a firefight.

Beth sent Sherlock a wan smile, wordlessly asking for his forgiveness for what she was about to say. She didn't know how this was going to end, but for now she had to play along. _Not very hard to in the first place..._ "But, Doctor, what if it worked?" she said softly.

The Doctor turned to her, suddenly realising _exactly_ why she gave in – the math was elementary – and understanding completely. "Oh, honey…" He couldn't even give her a better option than what Moriarty was offering.

Holmes arched an eyebrow to mask his dismay at the sincerity in his wife's voice. "A commendable sentiment, Moriarty, but I cannot imagine that the end results would be any better than the last time a Fixed Point was broken."

Moriarty mirrored the eyebrow. "Ah, but that war is _not_ fixed, my boy. That history does not have to happen."

"What do you mean?"

 _Beth..._ Nikola's 'voice' was sadder than he'd intended as he put two and two together, remembering too late that Holmes could hear every word. _What did he promise you?_

"Wars do not make for Fixed Points, Holmes. Certain events that spark them, such as assassinations, can be, but war must be too great an evil for Reality to deem Fixed. If not for the presence of your future-born wife, it would not even be an issue at all."

Beth's breath hitched, and she bowed her head. _Nikola, if I have a son in the next few years… he'll end up fighting in that war! Any children Sally and I have would be… would be caught up in that war… "At the very least, it will be a world in which humans needn't wear metal tags to have a name on their grave marker."_

 _Oh, sweetheart..._ Holmes let his gaze travel to Beth, allowing his mask to slip as he 'reached' out to her. His beloved's worst fear, and Moriarty had played on it expertly – and Holmes hadn't even considered... Oh, _hell_... Moriarty's gaze had suddenly become fixed on him, eyes narrowing – had he been silent too long? "Doctor, is he right?"

The Doctor gritted his teeth. "Mostly. But the fact that Beth _is_ here _does_ make it a problem!" You could safely rework history a little bit if you didn't have anybody from the future with you, but only theoretically on the scale Moriarty was talking about.

Beth gently pushed back at Sherlock's mental touch: she needed to concentrate on finishing with her cuffs. _And the last thing you want is his pity right now…_

"One which we can work to negate… Holmes, are you quite well? You seem a trifle… distracted."

Holmes hastily backed off from Beth, allowing Nikola to disconnect. "That surprises you?" With his wife in handcuffs, kneeling beside her erstwhile murderer?

"Yes..." What _was_ the boy doing? Ah, yes, just _there_... a fluctuation in the forcefield... too much activity for even Tesla to maintain integrity. Moriarty gathered all his unused mental energy and struck viciously at the weak point, which splintered just long enough for the Professor to force the crack wider. He heard a cry of pain from Tesla as the connection severed, and the TARDIS's _scream_ of rage... but she was not joined to Holmes directly, she could do nothing to interfere this time... and his former student's mind now lay open before Moriarty, a rich and complex tapestry... with a lingering sensation of warmth, of tenderness... _Ah... now, when did_ _ **you**_ _become telepathic, dear boy?_ Or was Tesla responsible for this, too?

Holmes gasped, recoiling instinctively; the touch of Moriarty's mind was as repellent as the rest of him... _Please, God,_ _ **no**_ _, not again..._ He struggled desperately against the icy tendrils that quested mercilessly through his thoughts, the chill almost paralysing. How in the world had he fought off Mileen, he couldn't remember...

"Sherlock!" Beth cried. Sherlock swayed, his gaze distant and terrified. Moriarty's gaze, too, was distant, though his eyes were fixed on Sherlock. It was only too clear what was happening, and she couldn't even do anything about it!

"Holmes!" Watson took hold of the detective's arm, steadying him. It was all he could do – he wasn't psychic like his daughter, he couldn't fight off Moriarty or help poor Nikola, who was still recovering from the obvious mental assault.

A smoky laugh rumbled through Holmes's consciousness, Moriarty pushing deeper still. _Little one, when_ _ **will**_ _you_ _learn?_

Nikola watched the struggle helplessly, unnoticed by either combatant – he might have the element of surprise, but nowhere near the skill or the strength to separate the two! Even if he and the TARDIS could manage it together, they could just as easily damage Holmes's mind irreparably in the process...

 _...the smothering dark of the Controller's prison pod, the soul-crushing loneliness..._ and Holmes suddenly laughed. That was _his_ memory, his nightmare, and he had dreamed it for so long, he owned it! _You wanted to know how dark it gets in here?_ He summoned up the memory at full strength, took as firm a hold of Moriarty's presence as he could, and started to drag him in. _Come and see, then!_

Moriarty snarled as the chilling blackness surrounded them both. The boy _dared_... dared to play master over a Time Lord, here?! Breaking free of the detective's pitifully weak grasp, Moriarty took hold of the dark and began to wrap it even more closely around Holmes. Let the insolent pup spend a few more hours screaming at his own demons...

Damn! Holmes forced himself not to struggle, sternly smothering his rising panic. He could hardly breathe... _Calm down, old man, you_ _ **know**_ _the way out of here, remember? Just like last time..._ Out in the real world, his hand instinctively sought Watson's and gripped it tight.

Watson understood, and realised: he couldn't reach Holmes alone, but _Nikola_ could do it. He squeezed his friend's hand comfortingly. _Nikola, get me in there._

Nikola's eyes widened as the connection all but made itself with barely any help from him, stronger and faster than he could ever have managed on his own... and the telepath laughed inwardly as he realised why. It wasn't the _TARDIS's_ power Moriarty needed to beware...

Holmes smiled in sheer relief as he sensed a familiar, comforting presence beside him. _Watson..._ Even though they'd never touched minds before, he'd know the doctor anywhere.

Watson smiled back, a touch anxiously. _Right here, old fellow._ He didn't know how Moriarty had missed his entrance, but apparently he had.

Holmes shuddered, the warmth of his friend's concern a stark contrast to the suffocating dark – he'd never meant for Watson to share _this_ with him! _I made a mistake, Watson. I can't fight him alone, he's using this memory against me._

Watson shivered. Poor Holmes. _Then let's give him one he can't control – one that we share. Remember the healing..._

 _Yes..._ Less than a day old, the memory grew swiftly between the pair, surrounded them, pushing back the shadows... _"Watson... you came back..." "I've missed_ _ **you**_ _... so much..." "Sherlock?" "John!" "Baby Time Lady..." All four staring in wonder at the golden light enveloping Holmes and Watson, strength flowing back as their wounds closed... and Beth... Beth was_ _ **alive**_ _, arms tight around him as if she would never let go, eyes shining with tears of joy... "Beth...! Oh, thank God!" "I'm right here..."_

 _No!_ Moriarty barely had time to register Dr. Watson's presence before the sheer power of the combined memory swept him up and relentlessly forced him back, out of Holmes's mind completely, who gasped as he was released, sagging into the doctor's steadying arms.

While everyone else was engrossed by the obvious mental conflict, Beth _moved_. Her cuffs dropped to the floor, unlocked, and she drove her fist into the back of Moran's knee. The sedative long since worn off and replaced by adrenaline, Beth sprang to her feet, kneed the Colonel viciously in the groin, and drew his revolver from its holster.

Doubled over, Moran clutched weakly for his revolver, far too late, then fell to one knee. "Guards!"

 _No, I_ _ **don't**_ _think so..._ Nikola saw his chance, and the guards froze in place as they turned their firearms on Beth, eyes glassy.

Still shaken, Moriarty fought to collect himself. Damn the boy, when had he learned that kind of mental discipline?! _Not discipline, James Moriarty_ , came the ringing thought, edged with regret. Tesla! His shields, they were in pieces, how...? _Something you've never understood..._

Beth whipped around, drew a bead on Moriarty's chest, and fired.

" _Beth!"_ The sound of the pistol shot snapped the horrified detective back to reality in a heartbeat... but it wasn't his wife staggering backwards, gaping in outraged disbelief at the growing crimson stain on his chest... and... dear God, golden _light_ was beginning to shimmer through the Professor's hands. Moriarty... was a Time Lord?!

Moriarty struggled to stay upright, teeth clenched; the warmth of Time Vortex energy that filled his body was doing very little to ease the pain... and then, just as suddenly, the warmth _vanished_. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, trying desperately to call the energy back, but it remained stubbornly out of reach, it wouldn't come, _it wouldn't_ _ **listen**_...

Moran stood frozen, staring in disbelief and growing fury, then snatched a knife from his boot next moment and surged to his feet.

Holmes's blood ran cold, reading murder in the Colonel's eyes. As Watson raised his revolver, the detective plunged his hand into his coat pocket, firing his own pistol through the cloth. Both bullets struck true, Watson's through Moran's head, Holmes's through the heart.

Beth whirled around at the shots and jumped back from Moran as the bullets hit. He staggered for a moment, then crumpled to the floor. Oh, zed, she could actually _see_ some of his brain matter... _Mycroft's head half-exploding..._ She shuddered and looked away immediately, fighting down her rising gorge.

Moriarty stared at the body of his lieutenant, then slumped to the floor himself, now barely able to breathe. "...Holmes..." _Help me..._ But the detective didn't even spare a glance as he hastened past, eyes only for his wife.

Watson, however, was staring at the Professor – he'd fully intended to shoot Moriarty if he'd had to, but seeing the man use the Time Vortex like that changed everything. The Doctor wouldn't want _any_ remaining Time Lord to die, friend or foe, even if Moriarty was newly-born as such. He turned to the Doctor, opening his mouth to ask if he could help. But the Doctor shook his head, walking slowly towards Moriarty, and Watson stopped.

Beth looked up at Sherlock as he reached her, then down again at the floor, cheeks reddening in shame. After everything she _said_ to him... she'd gone and done the exact same thing he had.

"Beth!" Holmes hugged her hard, shaking, his voice hoarse. "Beth, thank God!" She was alive, she was safe, he'd been so scared...

Her heart aching, she wrapped her arms around him in return, silent and trembling but grateful for the embrace.

He kissed her hair and just stood with her for a long moment, rocking her gently. _My poor love..._

The Doctor bent down to pick up his fallen sonic and disengaged his collar, taking it off and hurling it away in revulsion. He sat on his haunches and looked Moriarty in the eye. The man looked wary, bewildered... and it was all so, so sad. He'd genuinely thought he could help his own race, but he'd gone about it in all the wrong ways... "I am sorry," the Doctor said slowly, quietly. "I really am. But you made your choices. The same as anyone else. No one ever took that freedom from you." _Nobody_ _ **forced**_ _you to become what you did—you did that to yourself_.

Moriarty smiled bitterly, still struggling for breath. "I could have done... so... much... _more_..." Tesla had been right all along, even two lifetimes hadn't been nearly enough... The Doctor should never have interfered.

The Doctor looked hard at the Professor—old human, young Time Lord. It was like something straight out of a Greek tragedy—Moriarty would have fit right amongst the likes of Icarus or, perhaps more appropriately, Oedipus. "It wouldn't have been for you to do."

With his attention no longer divided, Nikola managed to find the right 'switch' in the guards' minds to send them to sleep, then reached out and gave Holmes a gentle nudge. _Holmes..._ Moriarty was fading fast; if the detective wanted to say goodbye, this was his last chance.

Holmes hesitated, reluctant to leave Beth. What was there left to say, anyhow?

Beth felt his hesitation and could guess why. She understood his reluctance, but, like it or not, James Moriarty had claimed an extraordinarily significant role in Sherlock's life. If he said nothing to the Professor now, he might regret it. She nudged him gently. "Sweetheart..." She looked up at him and nodded. _Go on, it's okay..._ He gave her a shaky smile, arms tightening a moment before letting go, and slowly approached the two Time Lords, Nikola taking his place at Beth's side as he moved away.

Watson felt a mental nudge from Nikola to follow Holmes—as if he needed one! But he followed at a respectful distance. He would like nothing so much as to know that the relationship between Holmes and Moriarty was nothing more than as enemies, but the reality was, of course, so much more complicated.

The Doctor looked up and stood, moving back to allow some privacy.

Moriarty's breathing was harsher and faster now, but the exquisitely painful bullet in his chest was taking much too long to do its work. _Touché, Elizabeth_... He looked up at Holmes, uncertain of what to expect from the boy, though he knew better than to expect any trace of affection or sorrow. And suddenly he ached just a little, remembering when Holmes _had_ been a boy, and they had been truly close...

"I should never," he rasped, "have attempted... to teach you... all those years ago..." He had derided the boy for harbouring his attachments, but in the end, it was Moriarty's own attachment to Holmes that had kept him from simply killing him and having done with it. _You might not have been bleeding out on a floor now_...

Holmes blinked, then shook his head, throat suddenly tight. "That," he answered softly, "was the one good thing you did for me." He could almost wish that he'd never learned the truth...

Moriarty nodded, gratified to sense at least something akin to what he felt radiating from Holmes. The boy, when he had been a boy, had reminded Moriarty so much of himself in his youth that he had eventually, dangerously dared to think of him as his own son. He could hurt and even shoot the boy, but he could not have brought himself to end his life. "And I still... do not... regret it... in the slightest..." Those few brief, warm years together, a glimmer of light in a life he knew had otherwise been very, very dark... no, he could not regret that.

Holmes nodded, though he couldn't quite bring himself to say 'thank you'. There was still too much that he hated the man for... With a shadow of a smile, he managed to answer, "Just... don't expect me to name any of the children after you."

Moriarty almost smiled, though breathing was nearly impossible now. He had never understood before that bleeding to death could also feel like suffocation. "Pity..." Though, if nothing else, 'James Holmes' didn't sound quite right—not that 'John Holmes' sounded much better, and he would have wagered a goodly amount that the eldest son _would_ be given that name. "It's... been... an honour... dear boy..." Sherlock Holmes's grey eyes, full of mixed emotions, were the last thing he saw.

Holmes gazed down at his former mentor's still form, a sickly, hollow feeling in his gut. When Moriarty had first been shot, he'd barely had time to acknowledge the fact before the effects were reversed... This time, it was different, Moriarty _wasn't coming back_... _sprawled at the edge of the cliff, the jutting rock that had saved him cutting into his palm, staring down into the rolling mist where his enemy had vanished..._ and just like then, he couldn't tell whether he was relieved or... or _sorry_...

Stiffly, his legs feeling a long way away, Holmes knelt beside Moriarty and passed a hand over the man's eyes, closing them. _...it's over..._

Beth approached Sherlock and knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. She didn't know what to say—silence was probably best until he was ready to break it. She looked down at the body on the floor, and even though her chance at preventing World War I had died with Moriarty, she couldn't regret killing him. Not after everything that had happened.

Holmes mechanically put his arm around his wife's shoulders, eyes burning but tearless, and rested his head against hers. They stayed there together like that for a long time.

 _It's over._ The thought should have been more comforting.

* * *

 **Ria:** Holy cow, we actually did it! *hugs the Holmeses* And, golly, I never thought when we first started this story arc that Moriarty would end up as such a sympathetic character, it broke my heart to have to kill him.

And now, dear readers, you have two options. You can continue with the final chapters of this story, or... you can go on to our _bonus_ episode: A Study in Family. We know that some of you will be wanting a quick wrap-up to this adventure, like in the TV episodes, so that's what the last few chapters of 'Together' are for, while those of you who just can't get enough can carry on to the next episode, in which that ending will not only be included, but massively expanded on. Well, we just had so many loose ends left to tie up, it was enough for an extra episode all by itself... Some it will be decidedly NSFW, though, rather more than any episodes so far, so we're giving it an M rating, just to be on the safe side.

For those who want to read both wrap-ups, we'll be doing our best to post the chapters with matching scenes together. And there's plenty more good stuff to come after all that as well, including a _Christmas_ episode! Enjoy!


	12. The Problems of our Future

**==Chapter 12==**

 **The Problems of our Future**

 _"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise."_

— Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

Holmes woke slowly, feeling warmer and more comfortable in doing so than he had in a very long time. The sight of his wife beside him, still deep in blessedly peaceful slumber, made him smile, then sigh – he'd like nothing more than to stay, just holding her and watching her sleep. He kissed her cheek, then carefully, reluctantly slid from her hold and out of the four-poster bed. Thank goodness Beth had chosen her room rather than his for last night's... activities – he couldn't remember doing any tidying up before leaving the TARDIS for what he'd thought was the last time. On a hunch, he checked the wardrobe, and was amused to find that the TARDIS had moved all of his clothes in here. He smiled in thanks at the ceiling, quietly dressed and slipped out, making his way to the control room.

The Doctor was beneath the floor by the control console, giving the TARDIS some badly needed maintenance. The poor thing'd had a rough past few months... When he heard footsteps enter the room, he called out, "Morning!"—grateful for the arrival of company.

"Good morning, Doctor." Holmes squatted at the edge of the hatch, noting with some concern the Time Lord's disheveled appearance. "Please tell me you haven't been up all this time working."

The Time Lord smiled sheepishly. "Not exactly." He knew, of course, that Holmes was really asking if he'd _slept_ at all—which, of course, he hadn't. "Did you two sleep well?"

Holmes nodded. "I gather we're still in the Vortex." No sign of Watson and Nikola, they must still be abed.

The Doctor nodded back, then returned his attention to the power coupling he was working with. "Few enough hours until dawn from when we left Torchwood—you lot had to get a decently long sleep."

"Thank you, yes." That solid, undisturbed rest had Holmes feeling like a new man. _Speaking of which..._ The detective opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn't think how to even begin, he and the Doctor had _so much_ to talk about...

The Doctor's smile faded to solemnity—if they had to have _talks_ now, there was one thing he had to get out of the way right away. "Sherlock…" He hesitated, then sighed. "You know how Nikola and I brought Moriarty's body aboard? I'm not sure when or where just yet, but I need to burn it. It's a Time Lord thing—Time Lord bodies are cremated, and with good reason, too. I'm not saying that you have to come with me when I do it, but I thought you should know."

Holmes stared at the floor as he listened, brow furrowed. He didn't _want_ to attend, it wasn't as if he owed Moriarty anything now, if he ever had... but somehow... he still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he _ought_ to. He looked up at the Doctor and nodded mutely, before he could change his mind.

The Doctor grimaced—poor Sherlock, he did understand... "Sherlock, you don't have to."

"I know..." _But if you don't..._ As much as he hated the idea, the thought of no one but the Doctor being at Moriarty's... funeral (what other word was there?) seemed even more... wrong... "If I may make a suggestion?" When the Doctor raised his eyebrows invitingly, he went on, "Rannoch Moor, the Torchwood estate."

The Doctor nodded slowly, considering. "It'd have to be a bit of a ways away from the house—" which, he understood, was still a base of operations for the Institute—"but, yes, I think that'd do."

"As to when... well, the others all seem to still be asleep at the moment." Holmes couldn't imagine that any of them would be eager to attend.

The Doctor looked at him in surprise—he hadn't thought the detective would be up for that. "Right now? Blimey…" He sighed again. "Still, s'ppose you're right, though." He climbed back up out of the ship's bowels and stroked the console affectionately. "Sure about this?"

The detective's lips twitched. "Not really." He wasn't about to back out now, though. Besides, it was clear that the Doctor could use the company.

The Doctor flashed him a small, fond smile—he had really missed Sherlock Holmes. "All right, then." He threw down the lever. " _Allons-y_."

* * *

They stopped first at a sawmill to pick up enough wood to build the pyre—it would have been all but impossible to gather wood on a moor. A mere few seconds, then, after Moriarty had died in London, the TARDIS shuddered into Scotland, and the Doctor straightened from the console. "Okay... I'm just going to get the stasis capsule. Be right back."

Holmes headed down the ramp and opened the door. After months of fog and muted sunlight, it was something of a shock to discover a clear night sky above the moor, ablaze with stars. He felt his eyes growing suddenly moist... It had been so long...

The Doctor came up behind him, pushing the capsule, but stopped and moved up to stand beside the detective in the doorway. He took a shaky breath—he hadn't realised how much he'd missed the stars until he saw them. "Oh," he breathed, "that's lovely..."

Was this the only view he and Beth would ever have of the universe from now on...? Holmes shook his head, returning to reality, waiting a few more moments before clearing his throat respectfully. "I hate to interrupt, Doctor, but we do have things to do." The funeral pyre wouldn't build itself…

"Right, sorry." Jolted from his own reverie, the Doctor went back to work.

* * *

After a good solid hour of labour, the pyre was ready, and the Doctor and Holmes set the Professor's body on top of it. The Doctor made a torch, lit it, and set fire to the pyre. He felt as though he _should_ be saying something right now, but a Gallifreyan eulogy hardly seemed appropriate, so he simply stepped back and watched the flames.

Holmes stood by the TARDIS, leaning back against her – her solidness at his back was a welcome thing just now. Despite his recent exertion and the heat of the rising flames, he felt strangely cold, a hollow ache in his chest as he watched the fire engulf Moriarty's corpse.

The Doctor moved back to stand beside Holmes, looked at him, and decided to say something. "I've done some searching," he murmured, "some Time Lord-type searching, tonight. Through timelines. Yours, Beth's... his." He nodded at the pyre. "How much do you know about his past?" Because what the Doctor had discovered had broken his heart...

Holmes's lips twitched. Which one? "Before which date?" Shrugging wearily, "Little more than I told Watson, back in '91. After that..." He fell silent, gazing solemnly at Moriarty's silhouette for a long moment. "He told me... told me he often wished he had died then, that day at Reichenbach..." It should have ended there... it should have... _But the new Moriarty was already a part of your past, though neither of you knew it..._ And even though the identity was a lie... the kindness had not been, not then. " _My boy..."_

"I'm sure he did. Every time he rose high, he eventually fell even further. He could have been..." _He could have been an incredible force for good; you saw more than one reality in which he was._ He wasn't sure, though, that Holmes really wanted to hear that right now, or hear what the Doctor really wanted to tell him. People were complicated, and Moriarty as much as anyone else. And the tragedy of it was that the Napoleon of Crime had tried one last time for a real, loving relationship... and failed spectacularly. _No, Sherlock probably doesn't want to hear it right now; not after what Moriarty did to Beth._ So the Time Lord simply shook his head and said, "Such a waste..."

Holmes reddened, staring down at the ground as yet more regrets resurfaced. " _What has he_ _done_ _to you?"_ _"Nothing I have not allowed him to, Miss Lestrade..."_

The Doctor frowned at his companion's reaction. "What is it?"

Holmes bit his lip, blush deepening. "Doctor, I..." _Don't be a coward, you've put this off long enough..._ "I assume the others have informed you... of what my part was in this whole affair..."

 _Oh_. The Doctor had wondered when that was going to come up. He turned fully to the detective and said gently, "I do know, Sherlock, yes." Aside from Nikola's updates, Beth had pulled the Doctor aside and quickly given him a run-down, quietly but fiercely insisting that her husband felt his guilt very keenly. Poor Sherlock. He knew only too well what his friend was going through right now.

The detective could barely meet the Doctor's eyes, so full of love and compassion, before he had to look away again, gaze drawn back to the pyre in spite of himself, his own eyes glistening. "If it hadn't been for Beth..." he managed hoarsely. "Even when she thought I didn't care... however deeply I wounded her..." His voice was now a whisper; "she never stopped trying to reach me... to remind me of who I was..."

The Doctor slowly wrapped both arms around him, drawing him into a hug, who returned it gratefully, blinking hard. "Oh, Sherlock," he murmured, "I know. More than you know, I know..." He pulled back to look Holmes in the eye. "There's more than one reason why I take Companions with me." His tone softened further. "You lot remind me every day of who I need to be."

Holmes nodded slowly, all at once reminded of what Moriarty had told him at the very beginning: _"_ _He has paid a heavy price for the path he chose – perhaps not heavy enough..."_ "Doctor..." He sighed. "Forgive me, I don't wish to distress you... but there is something you ought to know... Moriarty... he searched through _your_ timeline, as well..."

The Doctor smiled grimly. "Yeah, I kinda figured that." _Farewell, Valeyard. Think on your sins._ Moriarty had definitely done his research.

"He wouldn't tell me everything, but... Doctor, he did tell me about the Valeyard." _The darkest aspects of the Doctor, given flesh and form..._ "I'm... so sorry..."

The Doctor took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Can't..." His voice was too hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Can't say I'm really surprised." Not after the way Moriarty had _gleefully_ hurled the title at him again and again. "I'm sorry you had to hear about that, from him…"

"If it helps at all, Doctor... I now know something of what it is like to come face to face with one's darker self."

The Doctor swallowed thickly. "Something of it, yeah… and you should never have had to…" _But only_ _ **something**_ _, thank goodness_ —he doubted Holmes would ever have done some of the things the Doctor had already done. He opened his eyes. "Sherlock, I shouldn't have booted you off the TARDIS, and more than that, I shouldn't have just… _left you alone_ … while you were trying to recover from out-of-body trauma, no less! I am so, _so_ sorry…! " If he'd just taken on a modicum of personal responsibility for his own Companions, they might have avoided a lot of heartbreak. Holmes and Watson might not have split, they might not have been captured, Sally might not have had to go through her first pregnancy without her husband, Beth wouldn't have been murdered...

"Doctor..." Holmes shook his head, smiling sadly. "If I recall correctly, Watson's was the deciding vote to return home – and he was right." They'd both been off the slow path for far too long.

The Doctor shook his head, too. "I didn't go about it nearly the right way."

Holmes's smile became rueful. "Well, my conduct at the time couldn't have helped. How any of you were able to put up with me, I will never know." Even Beth... _And speaking of your wife, don't you have something to ask?_

The Doctor pulled himself back together at the shift in Holmes's demeanor—the detective actually looked _nervous_. "…Sherlock?"

Holmes drew a deep breath, then said simply, quietly, "Beth."

The Doctor exhaled shakily, forcing himself to keep eye-contact with Holmes—the look in those grey eyes was breaking his heart. _"How long are you going to stay with me?" "Forever."_ "Sherlock… I'm… working on that…" He grimaced; he didn't want to give false hope! "And I wasn't going to say _that_ much yet..."

Holmes's heart missed a beat. "Doctor, _please_. Any hope you can give us at this point, especially Beth..." His beloved had suffered so terribly... and what she had tearfully confessed to him during the night had shown him how easily she could still decide to just... let go...

"Sherlock, you have to understand that I'm playing a very dangerous and very delicate game with Reality. I think I'm right, but if I'm wrong… more than just your world could pay the price." One couldn't just blithely go mucking about with Fixed Points or the people who were part of them—they'd already seen exactly what happened if you tripped and fell.

The detective nodded gravely. "I understand." But even a slim hope was better than none at all. "Thank you."

The Doctor nodded slowly in return. "It's not just you that owes Beth something, Sherlock. " The Time Lord was only too aware of the debt they _all_ owed her.

"Lestrade has a descendant to be proud of," Holmes smiled in agreement. "And I greatly wish I could tell him so."

"Mm, maybe you can someday," the Doctor smiled in return.

Holmes gave a huff of laughter. "Yes, and promptly be thrown in a holding cell to sober up! Oh, which reminds me: we do have to get back to Baker Street sometime this morning – Lestrade and Mycroft will be needing an update on the case." Though he might just neglect to mention any other recent developments.

"Don't worry, I'll get you there bright and early." Of course, "bright and early" would be a while yet—humanoid bodies took hours to burn down on a pyre, and Time Lord bodies were no exception.

Holmes followed the Doctor's gaze, sighing – this being a solemn occasion didn't make it any less dull, he'd been on more exciting stakeouts... "I don't suppose..." He shook his head, half ashamed of himself, but unable to dislodge the irreverent thought.

The Doctor's lips twitched—he knew that look and he'd missed it. "Yeees?"

"Well, it has been a while since either of us has eaten, I imagine... Do you want some popcorn?"

Eyes wide, the Doctor covered his mouth, but couldn't help laughing. _Now there's the Sherlock Holmes I know and love_. "Oh, what am I going to do with you?"

Holmes chuckled, heading back inside. "I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

The breakfast table at 221B was the most laden it had ever been that morning – it rather had to be, with half a dozen adults and one infant all crowded around it! Mrs. Hudson, of course, was in her element, piling people's plates high and tutting over how thin everyone still was, particularly Holmes and the Doctor. Holmes bore the fussing as best he could – it helped that he was actually able to do justice to his share of the food, for a change – and pointedly ignored Watson's smile of approval as his friend tucked into a large bowl of porridge with cream. The coffee pot sat well out of reach, Watson sternly informing the dismayed detective before breakfast that he couldn't have _any_ caffeine until he had regained some weight and was sleeping regularly again. Beth had nudged him in sympathy, then taken pity on him by requesting tea for herself as well.

George came in a minute later with another dish of bacon, having insisted on helping to cook the extra breakfast. He was relieved of his burden by Mrs. Hudson and told in no uncertain terms to sit down, meekly taking the window seat and balancing his plate on his knees.

As a new mother, Sally was certainly doing her breakfast justice—just the ability to eat as much as she wanted, fresh and hot and _delicious_ , and not needing to worry about anyone else not having enough seemed like a luxury! Even the Doctor was managing pretty well, helped along by the fact that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't quit _hovering_.

But despite her horribly empty stomach, Beth found that she could not eat very much—too tense, waiting for a chance to talk with the Doctor. He noticed her hesitance, and cast his mind about for a way to get that chance. He caught Sherlock's eye, then glanced first at Beth and then at Mrs. Hudson.

Before Holmes could open his mouth, Nikola intervened, trying something new: intruding a faint smell of burning on Mrs. Hudson's senses as he sniffed the air himself. "George, did you remember to take the frying pan off the range?"

George was sharp enough to look guiltily uncertain, starting to rise. Mrs. Hudson tsked, shook her head at him and hastened out of the room.

The Doctor grinned and nodded at Nikola—not bad at all. Then, sobering, he cleared his throat and turned to Beth. "So... Sherlock told you what I told him last night, right?"

Beth nodded, apprehension knotting her stomach. Across the table, Sally looked as anxious as she felt, and it made her feel ever so slightly better.

"Beth, relax, it's okay," the Doctor continued gently. "Look, there are some things about yourself and Sherlock and Moriarty that you guys should know."

Holmes pricked up his ears, laying down his fork to take Beth's hand in his, as much for his own moral support as for hers. The Doctor's reassurance didn't quite match his expression... and whatever solution the Time Lord had come up with, there would almost certainly be a catch.

"The TARDIS doesn't pick times and places at random," the Doctor went on, gesturing with his fork—"she always takes me where I need to be." He nodded to Sherlock. "Tibet 1893… New Earth, five billion years from now… Niagara Falls, last spring… Michigan, 2093. She has also, for a while now, been choosing Companions: she chose Sherlock and John when I needed them badly, and she also chose this scared but brilliant kid. She wouldn't have landed near an American high school, otherwise." It turned out that the TARDIS felt a kind of responsibility for timelines, herself—the Doctor had been having a long conversation with her the night before, as well.

Beth blushed and averted her gaze. _Brilliant_ , she most certainly did not deserve, except ironically...

Holmes squeezed her hand gently, noticing that Watson was wearing the same proud smile as he was; the doctor's gaze then shifted to Sally, his train of thought apparent.

"So now the thing is, you three—" the Doctor indicated Sherlock, Beth, and John—"are temporally significant. Sally, you are, too, but not for the same reasons—you have a lot more free will in the matter, and believe me, that's a blessing."

Sally nodded. She certainly did not mind not having to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders...

"And Beth… before, when we all… well, when you lot left the TARDIS, I knew that you _had_ to get back to your time. It could wait, but it had to happen, and it might as well be sooner rather than later." The Time Lord rolled his eyes. "So much for that." It had been unforgivably cruel, anyway: to give Beth a _taste_ of his lifestyle, just a taste, and then keep her from going any further. "And I could definitely sense a Fixed Point in your timeline. I wasn't sure what it was at that point, but now, when I _Look_ at you… it's already happened."

Beth's eyes widened beneath her frown, not understanding.

Holmes's brow furrowed. "You don't mean the case, Doctor, do you?" Since Time had been reset, the case still had yet to be resolved, technically.

The Doctor shook his head slowly and sighed. He didn't like that he had to tell them this; there was no way it was not going to hurt. "This probably won't be easy for you two to hear, but…"

Beth tensed automatically, setting down her teacup just in case.

"It was your death, sweetheart," he said gently—"or rather, your death and resurrection. That was always meant to happen, no matter what else did."

Beth stared at him, speechless. _What the actual zed...?_

Holmes was certain his face was as pale as Beth's, fingers tightening on hers. _Beth's empty eyes, her face as white as the snow beneath, rapidly staining crimson..._ Then he felt a gentle nudge in his mind: _Easy, Holmes, come back..._ Across the table, Nikola's eyes were a study in empathy. Holmes gave the telepath a small but heartfelt nod of thanks, relaxing his grip on Beth's hand again and refocusing on what the Doctor was saying.

"But, like I said, you were always meant to come back. And now you've fulfilled that Point, but—" the Doctor held up a finger—"that doesn't mean you're off the hook just yet. A lot of people that you would call 'historical figures' never have a Fixed Point in their lives and yet they are still born to influence Reality. The choices that they make decide how history will play out. Beth, you're both a person with a Fixed Point and a Reality-influencer. And someone else we know—knew—could influence Reality."

"Moriarty," Beth said quietly, head spinning.

The Doctor nodded. "Remember how I said that I knew that you had to go back to your own time, before Time broke down? Looking at you now… I don't see that anymore."

Beth paled further, breath catching.

"Looking at your timeline," the Doctor continued in a gentle tone, "at Sherlock's, at Moriarty's… they were all very tightly interwoven. Whatever one decided affected the other two tremendously. And I think that, at some point between Time breaking down and this morning… Moriarty made a decision that made it… no longer _necessary_ for you to go back."

Beth stared, heart pounding wildly. How... _how...?_

"Then..." an equally stunned Holmes said slowly, still uncertain of what the Time Lord was driving at; "where exactly does that leave us, Doctor?"

"Well, quite frankly, I'm pretty sure it leaves us at a place where what Beth does with her life is up to her."

Beth's face twisted, her pulse not slowing in the slightest. "But… Doctor… what if… what if I can't…"

Holmes put his arm around Beth, then remembered with a guilty pang that he _still_ hadn't gotten the chance to talk with Watson about what he'd been considering... but one look at his friend's face was enough to tell him that Watson had already had the same thought, smiling and nodding at Holmes encouragingly: _Go on, ask him._ "Actually, Doctor... Beth and I have been discussing that very question. Beth still has family in her own time... and since it's unfair to leave them behind entirely to come live with me..."

The Doctor's eyes widened, and he mentally kicked himself. "Oh. Oh… I should have thought you'd think of that. Um… setting aside the fact that it would be a shame for you to not wrap up the remaining published cases… what if I can do you one better? Because, really, at this point, I'm not sure that it's fair to either of you to be stuck in just one time."

Beth frowned, wishing he'd just come to whatever it was he had in mind. "Doctor… what are you saying?"

"Doctor," Holmes sighed, "you know we can't travel in the TARDIS indefinitely." _Especially since you are most likely going to have children at some point – do you really want any of them to be quite so..._ _ **special**_ _as Kathy?_

"Well, you know, the TARDIS is _not_ the only way that you can travel through Time," the Doctor replied. "There are other ways… one in particular that I'm thinking of."

Beth's eyes widened further. Was he... was he offering her unlimited time travel?

"Now, it might be a little tricky to get my hands on it, but… you would have the ability to go whenever and wherever you wanted on your own terms." The Doctor turned towards her. "You could go back and forth between this time and your own."

 _He is_. Beth covered her mouth in shock, and saw Sally copying her across the table. She could... she could go through Time and Space on her own...? There _had_ to be a catch—that was too amazing to be true!

Watson's eyes almost bulged out of his head, Holmes appearing no less thunderstruck. The notion of _Sherlock Holmes_ , magnet of crime, with his own personal time machine...! The doctor heard a faint sigh on his right and glanced over – Nikola was looking decidedly wistful. Of course, both inventors' travels in the TARDIS had all been on Earth in 1895; Nikola would probably give a lot to see even a tiny bit more of the universe the way the rest of them had.

The Doctor met Beth's gaze squarely, stood, and moved to kneel beside her chair. "Because Sherlock's right, Beth," he said solemnly: "it's not fair for you to have to choose between families—" not in any version of events, and _especially_ not after everything she had done, and suffered—"and I'm going to do my best to make sure that you won't have to."

Beth was crying silently by the time he finished. She leaned down and hugged him tightly, awed and grateful beyond words.

The Time Lord returned her hug, rubbing her back slowly and murmuring soothingly, "My brave girl. My brave, beautiful girl..." _The Doctor_ was not a person, it was an ideal, an ideal he always aspired to be. And throughout this whole ordeal, _Beth_ had been the one to fulfill that ideal; she had been the Doctor in every way that mattered.

Sally pressed her lips tightly together to stop a sob of relief from escaping, eyes glistening; the thought that she _still_ might lose her best friend had terrified her, but saying so to Beth had seemed unforgivably cruel... and now... She looked up with a misty smile to see that both their husbands were wearing much the same expressions, Sherlock more than a little overwhelmed. _Thank you, Doctor... thank you so much..._

* * *

Holmes paused before Lestrade's office door, bracing himself before raising his hand to knock – even though he'd been looking forward to this moment all morning, he suddenly felt inexplicably anxious.

Beth took his hand and squeezed it, just as nervous as he was. She was about to properly meet her future brother-in-law and her own several-times-great grandfather—as properly as she _could_ , given the circumstances—and she was just about terrified.

 _No enemies here, remember? Just family..._ He squeezed back, doing his best to smile reassuringly, and knocked.

"Come in."

Entering, Holmes wasn't surprised to find his brother there already, eyebrows raised at the sight of Beth, but rising at once. Lestrade stood, too, nodding respectfully. "Good morning, miss."

"Good morning, Inspector," Beth said carefully, almost demurely. _How many times have you actually had to act this properly? Two? ...okay, now is really not the time._

"Good day, gentlemen." Holmes turned to Mycroft, smiling proudly. "Brother mine, I am certain you have already deduced this young lady's identity." His voice and expression softened as he drew Beth forward. "Nevertheless, allow me to present Miss Elizabeth Smith... my fiancée."

Lestrade's mouth fell open before he could stop it. _Fiancée?!_ Surely not, there had to be a catch! Sherlock Holmes was _not_ a marrying man; he'd made that frightfully clear in the past!

Beth blushed at her ancestor's reaction. She could guess pretty well what was running through his head right now...

Mycroft had indeed deduced who Miss Smith was, bestowing a genial smile upon her as he bowed over her hand – so _this_ was the young lady who had, against all odds, persuaded Sherlock to break his most vehement oath! Strange, though... Just for a moment, he could have _sworn_ they had met before... "I am delighted to meet you, Miss Smith. I hardly dare hope that my dear brother has spoken as highly of me as he has of you." He shot a stern but twinkling glance at Sherlock, who was poorly concealing a grin at the hapless Inspector's reaction – it was absolutely typical of his little brother to give him no warning of such an occasion.

Beth smiled warmly back—it was so good to see Mycroft again, alive and well. And looking at him now, she could see a definite resemblance to his little brother. "I think you would be surprised, Mr. Holmes. It's wonderful to meet you." She turned to face Geoffrey Lestrade, and it felt amazing to have the opportunity to look him in the eye. She hadn't before, when she'd been impersonating an Irregular on that disastrous trip with Sherlock when everything was first falling apart. "And you, Inspector."

"Delighted, Miss Smith." Lestrade was aware he stammered slightly, but, blast it, he couldn't be expected to take this kind of earth-shattering news with any sort of equilibrium! At least the young lady—whom he'd noticed was _quite_ young, and American, to boot—was not taking offence. If anything, she seemed genuinely pleased to meet him, and that in itself was odd.

"My dear Inspector, I fear you look a trifle pale. Are you feeling quite well?"

Lestrade shot the insufferable amateur a brief glare and lifted his chin. Damn the man, he was probably enjoying this immensely. "I'm very well, thank you. Miss Smith, do take a seat."

"Thank you." Beth shot Sherlock a brief look, wanting him to behave himself, and let him guide and seat her in a chair before the desk.

Lestrade waited for the brothers to sit, then seated himself. "Well, then, Mr. Holmes, what progress have you made?"

"Excellent progress, Lestrade. I have every expectation that the stolen plans may yet be recovered. We have managed to ascertain the involvement of one Hugo Oberstein, international agent –" Holmes nodded to Mycroft in acknowledgement of his assistance; "in both the theft of the plans and the death of Cadogan West. Whatever part the unfortunate young man had to play in this matter remains unclear." Miss Westbury's eyes still haunted Holmes, he prayed that he might yet prove her fiancé innocent. "It is certain, however, that his body was placed upon the roof of the train from Oberstein's back window, his residence at Caulfield Gardens abutting upon the open tracks of the Underground."

Beth had winced when Sherlock got back to Cadogan West. That poor man—and his poor fiancée. _I can't imagine what she must be going through_. She opened her mouth slightly, about to speak on impulse on West's behalf, but she stopped herself. She didn't have anything _certain_ to say, and what could she really have said that would be worth hearing? It was probably not time yet to let anyone outside of 221B know that she was already involved in Sherlock's casework.

Interesting... Miss Smith seemed to have more of a personal interest in the case than Mycroft would have expected. Had she known the deceased? Perhaps, but more likely that Sherlock had discussed the case with her – a remarkable testimony to his brother's confidence in his betrothed, if so. Where in the world could they have met?

Lestrade raised both eyebrows. "Good Lord. And what of this Mr. Oberstein? I assume, then, that he bought or stole the plans? "

"Indeed, and has since left the country. However, we may still lure him back before he has a chance to sell them. Watson and I were able to..." Holmes couldn't quite keep a sheepish note out of his voice; "gain access to Oberstein's residence last night, and an inspection of his correspondence revealed these." He drew an envelope out of his coat pocket, ruefully noting that Mycroft's lips were twitching at the confession, though he remained silent.

Lestrade sighed—he might have known—and extended his hand for the envelope. "May I?"

"By all means." Holmes handed over the envelope, which contained a number of newspaper cuttings, obtained from the cash-box in Oberstein's study. "Whoever his confederate might be, Oberstein has been corresponding with them through the Daily Telegraph agony column." Every newspaper in London had its own signature typeface and grade of paper; the detective could have written a monograph on the subject if he'd thought anyone would actually read it.

Lestrade opened the envelope and skimmed over the ads:

 _Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed to. Write fully to address given on card. Pierrot._

 _Too complex for description. Must have full report. Stuff awaits you when goods delivered. Pierrot._

 _Matter presses. Must withdraw offer unless contract completed. Make appointment by letter. Will confirm by advertisement. Pierrot._

 _Monday night after nine. Two taps. Only ourselves. Do not be so suspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods delivered. Pierrot._

"It does seem pretty damning, this collection." Shaking his head, the Inspector set the envelope down and resisted the urge to sigh again. "No wonder you get results beyond us… "

Holmes held up a hand in mild protest. "Time was of the essence, Lestrade. Rest assured I do not rank housebreaking among my usual methods. Well, Mycroft?"

"Excellent, Sherlock," Mycroft nodded, the gleam in his eye the only outward sign of his delight. "But what use will you make of this?"

Holmes picked up Lestrade's morning copy of the Daily Telegraph from the desk. "Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement today?"

Lestrade frowned. "What? Another one?"

"Yes, here it is." Holmes ought to recognise it, he'd written it. "'Tonight. Same hour. Same place. Two taps. Most vitally important. Your own safety at stake. Pierrot.'"

Lestrade couldn't help being impressed—a neater solution to catching the thief, he couldn't ask for. "By George, if he answers that, we've got him!"

Beth also smiled. She'd first fallen in love with Sherlock's intelligence, and it still felt like a real treat to get to see it in action.

 _Good Lord..._ Mycroft's eyes widened, gaze darting between the Inspector and Miss Smith. Those smiles had quite transformed both their faces, and in the light of the gaslamp... **  
**

"That was my idea when I put it in." Holmes glanced over at Mycroft, eyes narrowing slightly at his brother's preoccupied expression, and cleared his throat. "I think if you could both make it convenient to come with Watson and I to Caulfield Gardens at about eight o'clock, we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution."

Mycroft gave a resigned nod, answering dryly, "I should be delighted, brother mine." The sooner all this bother was concluded, the happier he'd be – although he suspected he would be wise to begin a few more discreet inquiries once he had returned to the office...

Lestrade sighed imperceptibly and nodded. It was more than a little maddening the way that Sherlock Holmes expected the official detectives to be at his beck and call, but this _was_ a Foreign Office case. And... the fiasco with the Greek brother and sister and Mr. Melas had taught them all to follow the amateur's lead much more quickly than Gregson had that ill-fated night. "Certainly."

Beth turned then to Sherlock, her expression expectant. If she wasn't mistaken, that concluded their official business...

"Oh, yes, one more thing... My dear Lestrade, Miss Smith and I have another invitation to extend to your good self."

Lestrade's eyes widened slightly, bracing himself. The young woman's smile was positively radiant, so he had a fair idea of what he was about to hear, given the circumstances. He cleared his throat. "Ah, yes?"

Holmes smiled tenderly at Beth, then looked back up at Lestrade. "Beth and I are shortly to be married – tomorrow afternoon, barring mishaps..." Given everything that had happened already, he wasn't about to rule out the possibility of some unforeseen hiccup. "And it would mean a great deal to both of us if you would also attend."

Lestrade stared at them both. He had been right, but still he stared. He and Mr. Holmes had certainly been on friendlier terms since the younger man's return to London, but even so...

Beth's smile turned sympathetic. _Poor Geoffrey. I can only imagine_... "Please," she said softly.

Lestrade recovered enough to stammer out, "Of course." Then he chided himself and straightened in his seat. "It would be my honour."

Beth's smile broadened again. "Thank you."

Mycroft shook his head, sighing. "First to know, indeed." He took a second envelope from his own coat pocket, remarking innocently, "I can't imagine why I thought to bring a certain document along with me..."

Eyes lighting up, Beth opened her mouth, then closed it again, uncertain of what to say and whether or not it would be proper… _And I'm already sick of not knowing how to hold proper conversations_. That disastrous meeting with Oberstein made her want to dig her own grave and bury herself in it every time she thought of it. _And it looks like your conversational skills haven't improved much since then_...

Holmes laughed, taking the promised marriage license and pocketing it carefully before wringing his brother's hand. "You never cease to amaze me, brother mine. Thank you."

"Nor you to deprive me of a peaceful existence," Mycroft countered dryly as he rose laboriously from his chair, then bowed to Beth with a smile. "Until tomorrow, my dear. Gentlemen, I shall meet you this evening at Gloucester Road Station."

Beth rose and nodded, smiling back. _I think it's safe to say I adore him already_. "Until tomorrow, Mr. Holmes." She nodded to Geoffrey, smiling maybe just a tad brighter—she was _so_ happy he was really going to come. It wouldn't be the same as having her immediate family there, but it would still be immeasurably special. "Inspector."

Standing, Lestrade nodded back. "Good day, Miss Smith. A pleasure."

Holmes squeezed Beth's hand as he took it; he was more relieved than he cared to admit that this first meeting was concluded, despite its going so smoothly. "Gentlemen."

Once they were safely out in the hall, Beth released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Okay, um… that went well, right?" she whispered.

"Indeed, my love," Holmes murmured, smiling as his own tension drained away. He raised her hand and kissed it, starting back with her towards the front entrance. "I should think it safe to say that we have the whole-hearted blessing of the heads of both our families."

She laughed softly. "I guess so." And thank goodness...

Emerging back onto the street, it dawned on Holmes that he and Beth still had several hours to fill before tonight's stakeout – and come to think of it, this would be their last chance until after the wedding to spend any time alone together. "Well, _cherie_ , we seem to have the rest of the day to ourselves. Is there anything you would like to do before returning home?" _Home..._ The detective's smile grew awed as the realisation hit him: Baker Street truly _was_ Beth's home now.

Beth frowned, trying to think, then shook her head. "I have no idea." Everything, suddenly, was too new to her: both the world around her and her own life. All this time, she'd been _fighting_... and now she no longer had anything to fight and she felt directionless.

Holmes frowned, concerned at how overwhelmed Beth suddenly looked. _Well, can you blame her? Everything's been moving so fast since yesterday morning... When have either of you had a chance to catch your breath?_ "Well... perhaps you would care to take a walk? The Temple Gardens are only a step or two from here." Watson had always enjoyed strolling with him there, even in the winter.

She smiled reassuringly at his look of worry. "I'd like that." A normal walk in a normal park sounded _marvellous_.

* * *

 **Sky:** Wooow. Well, for the majority of the many drafts that this finale has gone through, Beth always went back to her own time. But then again, she always died trying to get Sherlock to leave Torchwood. When we came up with the final draft, and Beth survived the end of "The Dying Detective," married Sherlock in "Every Good Fairytale," and then died at the end of that episode, we decided that our poor children had been through enough pain. We _couldn't_ make them separate again at the end of the finale; that would have been too cruel.

But then that posed its own set of problems, to which part of the answer had to be that she would be able to travel in time herself and not have to sacrifice her birth family and the greater freedoms of her own era to live with her husband. Anything else just didn't work, and left us with a lot of options for the next season!

 **Ria:** Yes, a lot of tears were shed during those initial drafts of the finale – in the very _first_ draft, they only had their first real kiss just before Beth left! Oh, my heart... What the heck were we thinking?!

Well, at least it all worked out in the end. Speaking of which... stay tuned, just two chapters left for this episode!


	13. Upwards and Onwards

**==Chapter 13==**

 **Upwards and Onwards**

 _"Never regret anything you have done with a sincere affection; nothing is lost that is born of the heart."_

— Basil Rathbone

After the busyness of the past two days, it felt lovely to relax. That was exactly what the Doctor, Nikola, and George were doing in the TARDIS's library, sitting by the pool and sipping tropical drinks. Since they had to be left out of tonight's action, the Doctor had had the idea to read aloud Watson's written account to the inventors, straight out of a mint-condition issue of the _Strand_ :

"It was a relief to me when at last, after a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition. Lestrade and Mycroft met us by appointment at the outside of Gloucester Road Station. The area door of Oberstein's house had been left open the night before, and it was necessary for me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely and indignantly declined to climb the railings, to pass in and open the hall door. By nine o'clock we were all seated in the study, waiting patiently for our man.

An hour passed and yet another. When eleven struck, the measured beat of the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes. Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and looking twice a minute at their watches. Holmes sat silent and composed, his eyelids half shut, but every sense on the alert."

" _Does he actually_ _ **do**_ _that?" George asked curiously – their adventure at Niagara had left none of them any time to sit around._

 _The Doctor nodded, grinning—he'd seen Sherlock do that more than once_.

"He raised his head with a sudden jerk. 'He is coming,' said he.

There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned. We heard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with the knocker. Holmes rose, motioning us to remain seated. The gas in the hall was a mere point of light. He opened the outer door, and then as a dark figure slipped past him he closed and fastened it. 'This way!' we heard him say, and a moment later our man stood before us. Holmes had followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cry of surprise and alarm he caught him by the collar and threw him back into the room. Before our prisoner had recovered his balance the door was shut and Holmes standing with his back against it. The man glared round him, staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. With the shock, his broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped down from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft, handsome delicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter."

 _George gaped, while Nikola groaned, slapping his palm to his forehead. "Of course!"_

"Holmes gave a whistle of surprise. 'You can write me down an ass this time, Watson,' said he. 'This was not the bird that I was looking for.'"

" _Come on, Doctor," George grinned. "Holmes doesn't sound anything like that, you're not even trying!"_

 _"Oh, right, would you rather do it instead?" At least the Doctor actually_ _ **sounded**_ _British, which was more than he could say for either of the inventors..._

"'Who is he?' asked Mycroft eagerly.

'The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head of the Submarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the cards. He is coming to. I think that you had best leave his examination to me.'"

 _Nikola frowned. "But wouldn't Mycroft already know who he is? The brother of a government employee..."_

 _The Doctor tsked. "Haven't you ever read 'The Final Problem'? Holmes explains to Watson who Moriarty is—in 1891, years after he does it in reality. Writer's license—for the reader's sake."_

"We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa."

" _Should've left him on the floor," George grunted in disgust._

"Now our prisoner sat up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face, and passed his hand over his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own senses. 'What is this?' he asked. 'I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein.'

'Everything is known, Colonel Walter,' said Holmes. 'How an English gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension. But your whole correspondence and relations with Oberstein are within our knowledge. So also are the circumstances connected with the death of young Cadogan West. Let me advise you to gain at least the small credit for repentance and confession, since there are still some details which we can only learn from your lips.'"

" _Weeell..." Nikola murmured mischievously._

 _The Doctor shushed him, lips twitching.  
_

"The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited, but he was silent."

" _Where's a telepath when you need one?" George said innocently, making Nikola roll his eyes._

"'I can assure you,' said Holmes, 'that every essential is already known. We know that you were pressed for money; that you took an impress of the keys which your brother held; and that you entered into a correspondence with Oberstein, who answered your letters through the advertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph. We are aware that you went down to the office in the fog on Monday night, but that you were seen and followed by young Cadogan West, who had probably some previous reason to suspect you. He saw your theft, but could not give the alarm, as it was just possible that you were taking the papers to your brother in London. Leaving all his private concerns, like the good citizen that he was, he followed you closely in the fog and kept at your heels until you reached this very house. There he intervened, and then it was, Colonel Walter, that to treason you added the more terrible crime of murder.'

'I did not! I did not! Before God I swear that I did not!' cried our wretched prisoner.

'Tell us, then, how Cadogan West met his end before you laid him upon the roof of a railway carriage.'

'I will. I swear to you that I will. I did the rest. I confess it. It was just as you say. A Stock Exchange debt had to be paid. I needed the money badly. Oberstein offered me five thousand. It was to save myself from ruin. But as to murder, I am as innocent as you.'

'What happened, then?'

'He had his suspicions before, and he followed me as you describe. I never knew it until I was at the very door. It was thick fog, and one could not see three yards. I had given two taps and Oberstein had come to the door. The young man rushed up and demanded to know what we were about to do with the papers. Oberstein had a short lifepreserver. He always carried it with him. As West forced his way after us into the house Oberstein struck him on the head. The blow was a fatal one. He was dead within five minutes. There he lay in the hall, and we were at our wit's end what to do. Then Oberstein had this idea about the trains which halted under his back window. But first he examined the papers which I had brought. He said that three of them were essential, and that he must keep them. "You cannot keep them," said I. "There will be a dreadful row at Woolwich if they are not returned." "I must keep them," said he, "for they are so technical that it is impossible in the time to make copies." "Then they must all go back together to-night," said I. He thought for a little, and then he cried out that he had it. "Three I will keep," said he. "The others we will stuff into the pocket of this young man. When he is found the whole business will assuredly be put to his account." I could see no other way out of it, so we did as he suggested. We waited half an hour at the window before a train stopped. It was so thick that nothing could be seen, and we had no difficulty in lowering West's body on to the train. That was the end of the matter so far as I was concerned.'"

" _Poor, brave kid," George murmured sadly. No good deed unpunished..._

 _The Doctor nodded in silent agreement, hearts aching. It wasn't fair: the Holmeses and the Watsons got their happy endings, but where was the happy ending for West, or his_ _fiancée, or his mother? The Time Lord had to clear his throat before he could continue._

"'And your brother?'

'He said nothing, but he had caught me once with his keys, and I think that he suspected. I read in his eyes that he suspected. As you know, he never held up his head again.'

There was silence in the room. It was broken by Mycroft Holmes. 'Can you not make reparation? It would ease your conscience, and possibly your punishment.'

'What reparation can I make?'

'Where is Oberstein with the papers?'"

 _George's brows shot up. "What, Beth never told him?"_

 _"Not a word," the Doctor said proudly. From beginning to end, Beth had been magnificent_.

"'I do not know.'

'Did he give you no address?'

'He said that letters to the Hôtel du Louvre, Paris, would eventually reach him.'

'Then reparation is still within your power,' said Sherlock Holmes.

'I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no particular good-will. He has been my ruin and my downfall.'

'Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and write to my dictation. Direct the envelope to the address given. That is right. Now the letter:

"Dear Sir:  
"With regard to our transaction, you will no doubt have observed by now that one essential detail is missing. I have a tracing which will make it complete. This has involved me in extra trouble, however, and I must ask you for a further advance of five hundred pounds. I will not trust it to the post, nor will I take anything but gold or notes. I would come to you abroad, but it would excite remark if I left the country at present. Therefore I shall expect to meet you in the smoking-room of the Charing Cross Hotel at noon on Saturday. Remember that only English notes, or gold, will be taken."

'That will do very well. I shall be very much surprised if it does not fetch our man.'"

* * *

Nikola nodded in satisfaction as the Doctor paused. "Did you know, Doctor, Beth rewrote that letter almost word for word while tracking Oberstein down in Paris?"

The Doctor looked up, both eyebrows raised. "You're kidding." That was either a phenomenal memory or reading the story way too many times—or both. It could be both. Either way, that was really impressive.

"The timing seems a bit off, though, doesn't it?" George frowned. "How on earth is Oberstein supposed to get that letter in time to come back to London by noon tomorrow?" He grinned at a sudden thought: "I don't suppose you had a hand in delivering it, Doctor?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Watson's a good writer, but even he makes mistakes. You should see all the date inconsistencies there are just in the stories published right now!" Either that, or Watson was deliberately obscuring dates, but in either case, it left a tangle that no fan thereafter could ever satisfactorily solve.

He closed the Strand issue with regret. "Well, I'd love to read the rest to you right now, but I probably shouldn't. Besides, tomorrow's a big day."

Nikola hummed in agreement, which turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. "Not least because _someone_..." grinning at George, who was starting to redden, "is giving away the bride."

The Doctor echoed the grin. "George, _Beth_ _'s_ supposed to be the one blushing!"

Though George's smile was sheepish, his eyes glowed with pride. He might not be able to walk Beth down the aisle – a practice runthrough with Mrs. Hudson had been an education for everyone – but it would still be one of the greatest honours of his life.

* * *

The bells of St Marylebone Parish Church were pealing merrily, the organist playing a soft rendition of 'Abide With Me', a special request from the bride and groom. At the head of the wedding party, Sally picked up her bouquet, took a deep breath and her husband's arm, then glanced behind at Sherlock and Beth, beaming at how radiant the pair looked, not to mention nervous – they were the most adorable couple she'd ever seen.

Beth had been expecting a Victorian wedding to be different from what she was used to, but it still felt a bit weird to her. Sally and Watson, as the matron of honour and the best man, went down the aisle first, and that much was familiar, but rather than the father of the bride always escorting the bride to the groom, the bride and groom could choose to walk together, their families following. In this case, George and Mycroft.

Then again, as she and Sherlock started down the aisle, she was suddenly very grateful that he was walking with her. The butterflies in her stomach were insane: half the people here actually knew that she and Sherlock were already married! (All right, maybe less than half, but _still_.) This was just a _formality_.

 _Maybe it wasn't entirely real to you yet, though. ...okay, maybe_. Going into the ceremony now, she could appreciate how it took courage for people to do this—courage to say their vows in front of family and friends and mean it.

Holmes put his free hand on Beth's where it rested on his arm, stroking her fingers, noting with mixed concern and relief that they were trembling as much as his. He hadn't expected to be quite _this_ nervous at the crucial moment!

She took a shaky breath and grinned weakly at him. _Thank goodness I'm not the only nervous one!_ "Upwards and onwards?" she whispered.

He chuckled silently, whispering back, " _Allons-y, cherie._ "

Reverend Anderson stood waiting before the chancel, resplendent in full regalia and a beatific smile. As the party approached, Holmes had to hide a smile of his own at the sight of the Doctor standing amid the Irregulars in the front pews, all doing their best not to wriggle in excitement under Mrs. Hudson's and Lestrade's stern gazes, Kathy looking wide-eyed but content in Nikola's arms. Holmes reluctantly released Beth so they could stand apart, the rest of the bridal party forming a half-circle behind them; the organ music faded away, and the priest cleared his throat.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony..."

* * *

"Sherlock Edward Holmes, wilt thou have this woman as thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Holmes gave his blushing bride a tender smile, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He hadn't realised just how much he'd been longing to say the words until this moment: "I will."

"Elizabeth Anne Smith, wilt thou have this man as thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Beth was already blinking back tears at the look in Sherlock's eyes. "I d—will." She exhaled shakily, eyes wide, mortified at her blunder and relieved she had recovered it in time. Maybe, technically, nothing else did matter but the commitment itself... but still, it felt amazing—and terrifying—to actually make that promise in front of so many people.

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

Maybe it was a holdover from much more sexist times, but Beth appreciated this part, and was forever grateful to George for doing it. It was less like she was property being given away, and much more like _he_ had her back.

And George Westinghouse couldn't be more pleased to do it, very aware that it would be the only time in his life that he would ever give away the bride. "I do." He took Beth's hand, noting the tremor in it, and escorted her to Holmes.

Holmes reverently took Beth's right hand in his, hoping fervently his voice wouldn't crack as he repeated after the priest: "I, Sherlock Edward Holmes, take thee, Elizabeth Anne Smith, as my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

The Doctor watched almost breathlessly. When he'd first thought that maybe Beth could help Sherlock shake off his depression, he'd never imagined that the Great Detective would actually _fall_ _in love_ , much less _marry_. But the _rightness_ of it was already resounding through Time and Space, a triumphant _this was always meant to be_. All that pain, all that wrongness... even Death itself... couldn't keep apart two people who were meant to be together.

Beth's heart beating rapidly, she repeated after the reverend her own vow: "I, Elizabeth Anne Smith, take thee, Sherlock Edward Holmes, as my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

She and Sherlock dropped their hands, and the priest asked, "Have you the rings?"

His vision a little blurry, Watson stepped forward to give the rings to the man. After years of idle and not-so-idle hoping and frustration and then surrender to the fact of Holmes's bachelorhood, it felt like a privilege to be witnessing his wedding, much less taking part in it.

The priest gave Beth's ring to Holmes, and Beth extended her hand towards Sally.

 _Oops._ Sally started from her reverie, remembering that she still had a job to do. Giving George her bouquet, she peeled off Beth's white lace glove so that Sherlock could slide the ring onto his bride's finger, repeating after the reverend: "With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The priest then extended Sherlock's ring to Beth. As she tried to take it, however, the ring slipped right through her fingers to the floor. _Oh no!_ She blushed hard—she'd been afraid of messing something up, and yet she hadn't thought she actually _would_. She stood frozen, unsure of what to do. _Should I pick it up? Should John since he's the best man? What's the protocol for this?!_

Mrs. Hudson couldn't help a quiet chuckle of delight. Elizabeth hadn't done anything wrong, far from it. As her mother had assured her on her own wedding day, dropping the ring was meant to dislodge any evil spirits lurking within – not that she believed such superstitious nonsense, of course...

Mycroft gave Elizabeth a reassuring nod, bent and retrieved the ring, examining it curiously for a moment as he straightened. It clearly was not the Holmes heirloom, although it had the same crest, engraved inside the band with today's date and the couple's initials. He handed the ring over with a smile that was tinged with apology to both of them – he ought to have considered that Sherlock would have no desire to wear the original.

Beth smiled back ruefully, gratefully, as she took the ring. Holmes, meanwhile, had removed his own left glove and now held out his hand to Beth, glad to find that it was no longer shaking.

Eyes shining, heart thrilling, Beth slid the ring onto her husband's finger and repeated the vow: "With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Then they knelt together, and everyone bowed their heads.

"Let us pray."

* * *

When the ceremony was over, they had to sign their names in the wedding register. Sherlock wrote his in a gorgeous script that nearly made Beth green with envy. Then it was her turn, and she had to sign with her maiden name. Forgetting herself, she wrote a capital 'L' before she remembered, crossed it out, and wrote 'Smith.' _Zed, why didn't I give myself a name that actually started with an 'L'?_

She looked up and winced: Mycroft was doing that classic Holmes eyebrow. Yeah, a fake name that started with 'L' would definitely have been a smart idea...

* * *

At last, the newlyweds emerged from the church, blinking in the sunlight, to the sound of more bells and a sudden burst of cheering: the Irregulars had crept out early and formed an honour guard on either side of the steps, Will and Charlie saluting proudly at the head of the ranks.

Beth laughed, blinking back tears, and blew them a kiss, sweeping her arm to encompass them all. Her boys—no, wait, _their_ boys. She didn't know what she would have done without them...

Holmes beamed, feeling distinctly misty-eyed himself, then arched a stern eyebrow at Will as the boy piped up cheekily, "Oi, guv'nor, ain't yew gotta kiss fer the bride?"

 _Well, the lad does have a point..._ Holmes turned to Beth with a questioning smile, which she answered with a smile of her own, nodding. She'd been waiting for this moment as much as he had... Gently framing her face with his hands, and ignoring the hoots and whistles from the boys, he leaned in and kissed her tenderly.

A fresh thrill of joy went through her as his lips touched hers, and she kissed him softly back, her hands on his arms. She could have gone for passionate right now—she felt ecstatic—but she couldn't forget that they had an audience.

Sally was smiling so wide, her cheeks were starting to ache. She wrapped her arm around John tightly, eyes glistening – although watching her best friend make out with the Great Detective was still a little bit surreal, she felt as if her heart would burst. Just as misty-eyed, John wound his arm around her waist, holding her close.

Lestrade knew his eyes were unnaturally wide as he watched, but he was still in shock from this whole thing in the first place. And to see the Great Detective so blissfully intimate with a young woman... it practically beggared belief.

Noticing Lestrade's expression, Mycroft sighed – he had to confess, he himself was feeling unusually... well, perhaps 'mellow' was an adequate word for it. "I look forward," he murmured in amusement, half to himself, "to reading the good doctor's account of _this_ case..."

* * *

The reception was held at the Great Central Hotel on Marylebone Road, Mycroft naturally sparing no expense with the catering. Mrs. Hudson had insisted on making the wedding cake, however, and the dear woman had outdone herself: three tiers of flawless white icing, tastefully adorned with white rosebuds and garlands of leaves, sat in pride of place at the feast.

It was the first time Sally had ever been to anything like this, and despite her nervousness over proper etiquette on such a special occasion, she was enjoying herself immensely – besides, the Irregulars' table manners were noticeably less polished than hers and Beth's. One sumptuous course followed another, with speeches and toasts in between from the older adults, even a stammering but heartfelt one from Will. And after all that, the best was still to come.

A string quartet had been playing in one corner during the meal, courtesy of the hotel, and as the company finished dessert, Holmes leaned in towards Beth and murmured, "My dear Mrs. Holmes, may I have the honour of the next dance?"

Beth's eyes sparkled—she'd been waiting for this. "The honour would be mine, Mr. Holmes." She'd been waiting for a very long time.

Holmes caught Watson's eye, and Watson nodded, taking his cue. He rose, cleared his throat, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. The first dance is about to begin." He signaled the musicians to start up a waltz.

Sherlock squeezed Beth's hand and stood with her, the other men at the table all doing the same, then led her to the dance floor.

Beth's eyes widened at the amount of ceremony that had to come before the first dance, heart pounding as she followed Sherlock. She was still nervous but also excited, struck with a strong sense of surrealism: the wedding itself, the people attending, the settings... first _the_ one and only St. Marylebone Parish Church and now the rather well-off Grand Central Hotel. She knew there were more sumptuous hotels elsewhere in London, but this still felt like the height of luxury.

 _It's like a fairytale_.

The guests followed them, gathering at the edge of the dance floor. Still very conscious of dozens of pairs of eyes on her, Beth leaned towards Sherlock and whispered, "This may not be the greatest time to tell you, but I forgot, I'm sorry... I've never learned to waltz. I've never had to. And I'm not sure whether or not it's something you can fake easily?" She looked hopefully up at him.

"Not to worry, love," he whispered back, taking her hands and discreetly positioning her. "Just follow my lead." Even if she did make a mistake, no one was going to mind.

She nodded minutely, taking a deep breath to relax. "Okay."

The music began, and he tapped his fingers lightly on her waist for the opening bars, teasing out a smile from her to match his own. He started moving her slowly across the dance floor, and she concentrated on the rhythm of the music and how Sherlock moved to it. It wasn't 1940s-50s music, which she'd always thought was probably the best romantic dancing music of all time, but it was... nice. The way he was moving... was very nice... "So you do know how to dance..."

"Mm-hm." A jealously guarded secret, until now. "I've wanted to do this with you since Montreux."

Ow. She smiled ruefully. "I was dying to do this with you in Montreux..."

Holmes's smile was equally regretful; dancing with Beth was even more enjoyable than he'd imagined it would be. "Remind me never to refuse you again."

The Watsons followed them onto the floor a minute later, Sally very glad that John had found a spare moment to coach her the day before. She gave Beth an encouraging smile as they passed each other; her friend was doing brilliantly for her first time.

Beth smiled gratefully back. Thank goodness for Sally—she didn't know what she would have done without her help and calming influence. "Oh well," she murmured teasingly to her husband. "It wasn't a total loss, that day. Got to dance with several cute boys and _still_ ended up married to you."

Holmes chuckled silently, bringing Beth's hand to his lips. "I love you..."

From the sidelines, the Doctor beamed as he watched the Holmeses and the Watsons dance, feeling like nothing so much as a proud father. In the midst of that sensation, however, Will intruded by catching his eye; the Irregular jerked his head almost imperceptibly at Mrs. Hudson, who was holding Kathy and watching the dancing wistfully. Aw, Mrs. H. was the last person who ought to feel left out at this. The Time Lord nodded and glanced meaningfully at Kathy.

Will nudged the landlady, who looked at him in surprise; he shook his head and took Kathy from her.

The Doctor felt that it probably ought to have been George doing this, but he still walked over to Mrs. Hudson, took her hand, and bowed over it. "May I have this dance, milady?"

Mrs. Hudson blinked. Although charming, she'd quickly discovered the Doctor had a highly inflated opinion of himself – might gallantry exceed ability? On the other hand, it had been such a long time... She smiled, giving him a queenly nod. "You may, sir." Head held high, she allowed him to escort her to the floor, where he led her into the waltz with gratifying grace and poise.

Beth's eyes went round when she spotted the newest couple on the floor. "Oh my gosh," she murmured, "look."

Holmes turned, and his eyebrows shot up. "My word..." He hadn't known the _Doctor_ could dance!

Beth grinned. "They're so cute." They both looked so genuinely happy, almost as if... no, no way... _You're projecting, stop_.

"Use that word with Mrs. Hudson, love, and her revenge will be swift and merciless." _'Endearing', perhaps, or possibly 'adorable'..._

She gulped, not doubting that for a moment. "I won't, then."

He stroked her fingers with the hand holding hers, sighing faintly. "Where is a camera when you need one?" _...You wouldn't be thinking about possible future blackmail, would you? Certainly not..._

"Never around," she commiserated. The Watsons caught her gaze next, dancing and looking like nothing so much as moonstruck teenagers, bless them. She smiled—that was probably what she and Sherlock looked like themselves. _Well, zed, after all we've been through, we've earned a nice evening like this_.

* * *

Once the wedding cake had been cut and dispatched, Mycroft approached the newly-weds with a smile of genuine regret. Holmes grasped his brother's hand warmly. "Thank you for coming, Mycroft. I gather the country was able to survive your absence the last few hours?"

"Indeed it was – but, sadly, I must now take my leave." No rest for the wicked, the paperwork always bred exponentially when one's back was turned.

Beth smiled radiantly. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Holmes. " If this evening had been a fairytale, then Mycroft was the fairy... well, godfather, in this case. The metaphor did work, even if the mental image it conjured up was rather silly. But everything had been perfect, and she was immensely grateful.

Mycroft bowed over her hand. "Mycroft, my dear, please. No need for family to stand on ceremony, after all." Although not given to sentimentality as a rule, he had indeed gained a sister this day, and he couldn't have been more pleased.

Beth blushed. "Mycroft." Her smile softened; she liked him so much, and she was so glad he seemed to like her. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Until tomorrow, then, Sherlock." Mycroft turned to leave, nodding at Lestrade, who was also waiting to bid the couple goodnight. "Inspector."

Lestrade nodded back respectfully. "Mr. Holmes." Thank goodness for the elder Holmes's presence in all this: in the midst of a whirlwind of changes, _including Watson's own new wife and child_ , Mycroft had been a comfortingly solid rock of normality.

Mycroft continued on towards the door, nodding to another guest as he passed. "Mr Smith."

The Doctor's eyes widened, and he nodded slowly. There was nothing suspicious or distrustful about Mycroft's expression, but... "Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft paused, blinking as if in surprise, then shook his head, tutting. "Dear me, my wits have finally gone begging. For a moment, I mistook you for someone else."

"Sir?" the Doctor frowned uncertainly. He realised a second later that he had just called Mycroft 'sir,' but it seemed to fit him, and the Time Lord could say that of very few humans.

"Indeed," Mycroft continued lightly. "He had the great misfortune to lose the favour of a certain noble lady of my acquaintance, despite the invaluable services that he and his..." expression softening for a moment, "fellow traveler rendered to her." Whatever _had_ happened to 'Dame Rose Tyler?'

The Doctor faltered a moment at the mention of Rose—he'd been trying very hard throughout today to _not_ think about her. "Oh." Well, at least it sounded like Mycroft had pretty much gotten the story—the Doctor had been wondering about that. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure they hadn't meant any harm."

Mycroft favoured him with a bland smile. "Quite so. Happily for that John Smith, there are others whose judgement and... discretion I am considerably more inclined to trust on the matter." Not to mention the report he had received this morning concerning a certain mysterious organisation, whose Director had apparently opted for early retirement...

The tiniest smile flickered across the Doctor's face, followed by solemnity. "Then, for his sake, I'm glad. Those others—" His voice softened as he looked over at Sherlock and Beth, at last able to allow themselves simply to be _happy_... _you finally got something right and they're going to be okay..._ "—must be very good friends, indeed."

A tender gleam came to Mycroft's eyes as he followed the Doctor's gaze. "To be sure." He looked back at the man, one eyebrow raised very slightly. "I only pray that they will never find their faith was misplaced." Touching his hat, "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith."

The Doctor smiled slightly—the warning was fair enough—and nodded back. "The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Holmes."

* * *

The next morning saw Watson and the Holmes brothers sitting in the lobby of the Charing Cross Hotel on the stroke of eleven, Mycroft ostensibly engrossed in that morning's _Times_. "Well, gentlemen, you look well today," he remarked lightly, not looking up from the paper. "In fact, I should say that married life quite suits you, Sherlock." His brother had already visibly regained some of the weight he'd lost during his travels, thanks to the new Mrs. Holmes as much as to their landlady's talents, no doubt.

Holmes sighed – Watson had been ribbing him mercilessly since setting out this morning. He didn't have to force a smile, however, allowing himself a quick glance over to where Beth sat with Sally in the dining room, the girls' table affording them an excellent view of the lobby and front entrance. "It does indeed, Mycroft, thank you."

Mycroft shook his head, smiling faintly. "And you, Doctor. Your wounds, in particular, do not seem to be troubling you, despite the time of year." Heaven only knew which point in the future the young ladies had come from, he probably never would... but if Katherine was not the genuine offspring of Doctor _and_ Mrs. Watson, Mycroft would eat his newspaper – Watson and Sherlock had certainly been away long enough for that.

Watson tensed for a split second— _come now, you've been expecting a comment like that sooner_ —then relaxed, smiling. "It's kind of you to notice, Mycroft." He grinned with a sudden idea. "What do you think, Holmes, shall we find a wife for him next?"

Holmes couldn't quite suppress a snort, then began looking thoughtful.

Mycroft lowered his paper sharply. "Sherlock, don't you dare!"

Holmes gave him a look of affronted innocence, then dropped it with a grin. "I'm afraid we're doomed before we start, Watson, Mycroft's already married to his work. But this must be the third time in as many days that you've deserted your post, brother mine – I trust the Empire is not on the brink of falling into ruin?"

Mycroft gave his brother a Look. " _I_ trust that Whitehall is able to survive temporarily without me." Thoughtfully, "Although I should not mind having a nephew to whom I can pass the reins someday..."

Watson chuckled at the younger Holmes's look of horror at the thought of any child of his following in Mycroft's footsteps. "Oh, come now, Mycroft—if you really want a protégé, surely you must have a promising underling or two you could take under your wing?"

Mycroft sighed. "Doctor, were that the case, you and my brother would be the first to know of it, I assure you."

"And for the record," Holmes interjected, sounding more defensive than he'd intended, "none of the Irregulars have ever indicated the slightest interest in politics."

Watson snickered. "Aside from throwing rotten fruit at passing dignitaries, perhaps..." He wouldn't have ever approved of the act itself, but it _had_ been amusing the one time that Wiggins' younger brother and a couple of the other lads had pelted the carriage of one of the members of the House of Lords—one who had treated Holmes rather contemptibly during a case.

Mycroft sighed again, aware that he was fighting a losing battle. "I _do_ wish you would instill them with a bit more respect for the authorities."

Holmes shrugged. "And how would you suggest I encourage values which I myself barely possess?" Smiling with quiet pride, "The boys are largely independent of thought, I am glad to say, and I intend to see that they remain so."

Mycroft directed a speaking look at the ceiling. "Working for the government does not necessitate a lack of independent thought, Sherlock. Your boys are undoubtedly all good young men, but they want a little refining."

Holmes arched a challlenging eyebrow. "And you and I undoubtedly have vastly differing opinions as to how that ought to be achieved." _Time's not Frozen any more, old chap – the boys are all going to get older now, like it or not._

"Well, Mycroft does have a point, Holmes," said Watson. "It is time the elder boys were thinking about their future careers—I believe there are at least two of them who would do well in the sciences, if not medicine specifically."

Holmes nodded thoughtfully, gaze returning to Beth for a brief moment and moving on with difficulty. It did stand to reason that, after surviving this latest adventure, navigating the perils of public school would be considerably less of a challenge.

Watson smiled innocently. "And apparently young Kelly has taken to hanging around the Yard quite a bit recently..." A fine officer of the law Kelly would make, too.

Holmes looked back at Watson with a milder look of mock horror. "Good Lord..." Watson raised a mischievous eyebrow, and the two shared a silent chuckle.

Mycroft smiled in fond exasperation, a smile that turned pensive as his gaze fell on Beth, wondering for the hundredth time just how this admittedly wonderful slip of a girl had managed to so thoroughly bewitch – much less _domesticate_ – his little brother...

* * *

Beth could not have felt more delighted as she took in the opulent surroundings. Getting into a corset was definitely worth all _this_ : Victorian elegance at its finest. She turned back to Sally and said with a straight face, "I have come to a very important conclusion."

"Oh?" Sally's dignified response was belied by the gleam of delight in her own eyes. "And what might that be?"

Beth really had to fight down a smile as she replied, "I like Victorian restaurants very much."

Sally pressed her lips together to hold back the grin that threatened to spread – she was determined to learn to keep the fangirling hidden and fit in with her surroundings until she found her feet. "The sentiment, my dear Mrs. Holmes, is entirely mutual." She sighed, letting the mask slide a fraction. "God, this feels so unreal... I keep waiting for someone to walk on and say 'Cut!'"

"Mm, absolutely..." It could be Jeremy Brett walking into the foyer, or it could be a good hundred other actors doing the same, at any moment now. "What feels unreal for me," Beth said ruefully, "is being out in the open like this, not having to watch my back." It would take a very, very long time to overcome the urge to look over her shoulder every five seconds, just one more gift to thank Moriarty and Moran for. "...and having _you_ here with me, Mama Watson." She winked at her friend, thrilled to have her out in public again like this.

Sally's smile widened, blushing. "I'm just amazed we were invited! Okay, a setting like this is good cover, but still..." She felt incredibly honoured, Sherlock trusting the two of them not to stand out and give the game away at such a crucial moment.

Beth grinned back. "I know, right?" Her eyes widened as she caught sight of a familiar figure. _"Now go—and I will pray we do not meet again."_ He was unremarkable in appearance, which he had also altered for this occasion, but she couldn't mistake him. "There he is," she whispered, "he just walked in!"

* * *

Mycroft's eyes continued roaming the premises. "Well, Sherlock, if you should ever like to see the Yard truly improve, you could not do better than to have the boys you've trained yourself enter that field in an official capacity."

His brother sighed. "Yes, yes, I am aware..." Then Holmes at last saw Oberstein walking through the lobby, a folded newspaper tucked under his left arm, looking entirely in keeping with his surroundings. "...that a certain highly sought-after individual has just graced us with his presence." Oberstein continued serenely on down the corridor towards the smoking room, removing his hat and gloves.

Watson pricked up his ears and glanced as casually as he could over at the new arrival and away again. "So that's whom we have to thank for all this commotion," he murmured dryly. "I'd envisioned him taller, for some reason..."

Mycroft snorted quietly. "My brother is one of the few tall men I know able to go unnoticed under such circumstances." Most interesting... Elizabeth's eyes had widened at the sight of the German agent, murmuring to the new Mrs. Watson in warning. Now, how could she have known what Oberstein looked like? Even Sherlock had only seen the dossier photograph this morning...

A few moments after Oberstein had entered, Geoffrey Lestrade stepped into the agent's path. "Just a moment, Herr Oberstein," said the Inspector. "I am afraid I have to detain you and take you down to New Scotland Yard for questioning."

Oberstein blinked, then answered calmly in impeccable English, complete with higher middle-class accent, "I'm terribly sorry, officer, but you seem to be misinformed. My name is Charles Brackenstall." He drew a visiting card out of his glove, smiling, and gave it to Lestrade. "Is there some way I can assist you?"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow—the man had a real nerve the Chief Inspector himself would have admired, not to mention a skill at impersonation that Sherlock Holmes would applaud. "Yes, there is. And I am afraid that I still need to take you down to New Scotland Yard under suspicion of theft from the British Government and question you. If you have nothing to do with this affair, well, then... you have nothing to fear, do you?"

Oberstein's eyebrows had lifted at the charge, drawing himself up with a look of offended outrage, only slightly mollified by the added proviso. "Well," he sniffed, "I suppose in my duty as a law-abiding citizen, I can spare you a few minutes." Nodding haughtily, "After you, officer."

Watson had to hide a smile as he watched. "Impressive," he murmured to Sherlock. "The man's acting talents could rival yours, Holmes!"

Holmes glanced sideways at Watson in annoyance; nevertheless, if he were honest with himself, he was beginning to appreciate how the agent had earned Beth's respect in Paris.

Lestrade pursed his lips and nodded to his constables, who came up to flank Oberstein. "Thank you very much," he said dryly. Oberstein couldn't know it yet, but his game was definitely up, and Lestrade couldn't wait to finally put an end to this business.

Mycroft's forehead creased faintly – Elizabeth's expression as her eyes followed Oberstein was... concerned? _They've met._ The thought rang with certainty as Oberstein followed the Inspector out, the agent still maintaining his façade of outraged innocence; somewhere, somehow, those two must have encountered each other before...

Holmes glanced over his shoulder to where Colonel Walter was being escorted from the smoking room by two plainclothes constables. A pity Lestrade had chosen at the last minute to close the trap before the final incriminating transaction had even taken place, but one couldn't have everything. He nodded at the officers, then turned back to Mycroft and Watson. "Well, gentlemen, shall we also adjourn to the Yard?"

Watson nodded, smiling. "By all means, Holmes." It was going to be a very welcome relief to have this case wrapped up at last.

* * *

" _I shall be very surprised if that does not fetch our man."_

 _And it did! It is a matter of history—that secret history of a nation which is often so much more intimate and interesting than its public chronicles—that Oberstein, eager to complete the coup of his lifetime, came to the lure and was safely engulfed for fifteen years in a British prison. In his trunk were found the invaluable Bruce-Partington plans, which he had put up for auction in all the naval centres of Europe. Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end of the second year of his sentence. As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject._

The Doctor snorted, grinning to himself as he put the _Strand_ issue back on the library shelf. Watson's artistic licence knew no bounds – the Time Lord doubted very much that writing monographs was what a newly-married Sherlock would _really_ be doing...

* * *

 **Sky:** It's done, it's done, it's really really done—a certain marriage is totally official now, yay! Which you might have already read in the bonus ep if you've been keeping track. ;) And you might want to be if you're not—there's a lot of content there that's either fun or important or both. And now we're finally starting to wind down on _this_ episode... but Christmas is also just around the corner, not only in real life but also in the story...!


	14. The Adventure of a Lifetime

**==Chapter 14==**

 **The Adventure of a Lifetime**

" _What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."_  
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

"He'll see you now, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes examined his freshly scrubbed reflection in the washstand mirror as Mycroft's heavy tread sounded on the stairs. The first London snow had begun in the small hours of last night, he and Beth press-ganged by the Irregulars into a snowball fight before breakfast. While enjoyable, the exercise had left him in definite need of a nap before lunch, and the detective wasn't about to receive even family with sleep dust in his eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"Have a seat, Mycroft, I'll be with you in a moment." Holmes dipped his comb in the water and hastily slicked back his hair, then reached for his jacket, shrugging back into it as he re-entered the sitting room.

Mycroft was settling into Watson's chair, giving Sherlock the ghost of a smile as he appeared. "Hello, my boy, you're looking well." Curiously, Elizabeth and the Watsons were nowhere to be seen or heard—and neither were Nikola Tesla and George Westinghouse, whom Mycroft had recognised almost immediately during the wedding.

"As are you, brother mine," Holmes smiled, shaking hands. He seated himself in his own chair, eyeing his brother curiously. "To what do we owe the pleasure? I gather there have been no further complications regarding the recent case?"

"None whatsoever. As a matter of fact, Oberstein's arrest came at rather a convenient time for one of our own agents in Europe." It was a very neat wrap-up for a case that had started out as such a conundrum. "You may also be pleased to know that Cadogan West is being awarded the Order of the Bath posthumously, for services rendered to Queen and country which cost him his life." Mycroft lowered his voice in respect for the deceased. "It means little enough in the face of his death, but at least his memory can be honoured."

Holmes nodded in approval – he had a strong suspicion who had been responsible for the nomination. "Actually... if it would not be inappropriate, Mycroft... I should like to deliver the news to West's mother and fiancée personally."

Mycroft nodded back—he'd rather thought Sherlock might want that. "By all means. I also have news for _you_ , personally." He had trouble suppressing a grin; he knew exactly what his little brother would think of this. "A certain lady wishes for your presence at Windsor on Friday; she would like to thank you for your own service in this matter."

Holmes sat speechless for several moments, cheeks burning. Dear heavens, Mycroft had no idea just _how_ embarassing such a summons was to him this time. Not that Holmes was insensible of the honour, far from it, but... there had been so many others involved in the Rift Affair who were much more deserving...

Elizabeth entered the room at that moment, rubbing her hands together, wearing trousers that were undoubtedly Sherlock's and a knitted pullover. She froze at the sight of Mycroft, eyes wide, and he felt a pang at the look. She had been caught outside of the little act she and Sherlock had concocted, but she didn't have to play a part for her brother-in-law...

Beth coloured slightly, swearing inwardly for having been so wrapped up in her issues that she hadn't heard the brothers talking. Mycroft was looking... sympathetic? ...and Sherlock looked relieved. She regained enough composure to nod at Mycroft. "Hello," she said in an altogether too-weak voice.

Mycroft smiled. "Good afternoon, Elizabeth. My apologies for interrupting your honeymoon—affairs of state, I'm afraid."

"And you well know my views on such matters, brother mine," Holmes sighed. "Could you not have interceded on my behalf?"

Beth raised an eyebrow. "What matters?" She turned fully to Mycroft. "What's he trying to worm his way out of now?"

Mycroft had to suppress an amused smirk at the glare Sherlock was bestowing upon his wife—and almost laughed outright to see that she was also trying not to smirk, albeit with less success. "I can only intercede so far, Sherlock—" he looked at Beth, finishing innocently: "Her Majesty was really quite insistent."

Her eyes widened again—the visit to Windsor mentioned at the end of the written record of "The Bruce-Partington Plans". "Ohhhh. Oh... my." She winced—she had been about to say "oh my gosh" and stopped herself at the last moment. She rounded on her husband in exasperation. "Really?" What an honour! He couldn't just refuse the Queen!

Mycroft was greatly enjoying observing these small but less-guarded moments between his brother and sister-in-law, and he was glad to see that Beth most certainly had it in her to handle Sherlock in all his moods. "It is high time you received recognition for your services, brother mine; you can only avoid it for so long."

Holmes redirected his glare at his brother, though it was somewhat half-hearted by now. "Very well, I accept –" Holding up a finger, "on the condition, Mycroft, that this never happens again." _Don't pretend you're not the least bit flattered, old boy, you really aren't fooling anyone._

Sighing, Beth pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

"I shall endeavour to ensure that Her Majesty understands," Mycroft said dryly. "The Prince of Wales, however, may be another matter altogether—my understanding is that he wishes one of his first acts as King to be the knighting of you."

Beth lowered her hand to grin at Sherlock, remembering the bit from _The Casebook_ that talked about his refusing a knighthood in the 20th century.

Holmes groaned, slumping in his chair. "I don't suppose I can simply disappear for another three years after the coronation..."

Mycroft snorted—he could imagine a few people who would have a great deal to say about that, one of whom was in this very room. "Indeed not."

Beth tilted her head and gave Sherlock a look to say that she really wanted to ask him about this attitude of his later, especially when he genuinely _liked_ attention. She straightened and started towards the bedroom, still feeling awkward and out-of-place in her modern clothing and hoping that changing into a dress would help that.

Mycroft rose in response. "But now I really must be getting back." His office could only stand for him to be away from it for so long.

Holmes nodded, rising himself. "Your second visit in a week, Mycroft," he couldn't resist remarking. "I never expected such energy from you."

Favouring his little brother with a Look, Mycroft took a heavy, gilt-edged envelope, embossed with the royal crest, from his pocket and handed it to Sherlock. "We live in most interesting times, do we not, brother mine."

Beth stiffened again but turned and smiled faintly at her brother-in-law. "Goodbye, Mycroft."

He smiled pleasantly back, resolving to have a talk alone with her at some point—he didn't want her to feel nervous around him forever. "Goodbye, Elizabeth." He nodded to his brother. "Sherlock." He was about to leave the room when he looked back over his shoulder. "And do try to refrain from any more housebreaking until Friday, won't you?"

A silent huff of laughter escaped the detective. "Only if strictly necessary, dear brother, never fear."

Mycroft sighed, shaking his head as he left the room—one would have thought he would be accustomed by now to his brother's lack of maturity, but apparently Mycroft was too optimistic for his own good...

* * *

Tuesday morning arrived long before anyone was ready, the seven Companions gathering in the Control Room for what Watson fervently hoped wouldn't be the last time. The doctor laid an affectionate hand on the central column of the console, smiling mistily at the ceiling. "Goodbye, dear lady."

The TARDIS crooned softly—she, of course, knew that she would see him again... Had already seen him again, was seeing him again, tenses were difficult when dealing with Time in a linear fashion. …but Companions didn't tend to say goodbye, and this set... this set, she had gotten very attached to.

Holmes nodded earnestly – he'd already said his goodbyes to the ship last night – and turned to where Nikola and George were waiting, forcing himself to speak lightly. "It'll be our turn to visit you next time, I suppose."

George chuckled, wringing the detective's hand. "Make sure to wire us first – where or when the Doctor will be dropping us back is anyone's guess!" Not _too_ far from when they'd left, he hoped.

The Doctor frowned, objecting for his sake and his girl's. "Oi!"

Nikola arched an eyebrow as he extended his hand to Watson, daring the Time Lord to deny it. "Until next time, gentlemen." _Have no fear, my friends... whatever else happens, he won't be alone._

The two men smiled back gratefully, though they both knew it was only a matter of time before the inventors would be disembarking themselves.

The women were hovering at the safety railing, Sally with her best stiff upper lip and Beth's eyes misty. When it came down to it, neither of them were quite ready for this, especially losing George and Nikola. (And neither were the Irregulars—those farewells had definitely been tearful.)

George enveloped Watson in a bear hug. "Goodbye, Watson." Softly, "I know I don't need to tell you this..." His gaze traveled to Sally and Kathy, smile turning tender; "but the days ahead will fly past before you even know it – don't ever take them for granted."

Watson nodded solemnly, hearing clearly everything George wasn't saying. "Never."

Sally decided to finally bite the bullet, approaching Nikola to say goodbye, with Beth following. _What am I going to do without him? Without either of them?_ Nikola hugged them both tightly, and Sally had to close her eyes against sudden tears. "Thank you for everything," she whispered.

Nikola's voice was husky. "Don't mention it." He reached out to Kathy, who was beginning to whimper. "No need to fret, little one – the Doctor will come back."

Kathy quieted, but her frown did not fade.

"You—" Beth's voice broke, and she had to start over. "You come back, too, okay?" _How are we supposed to do without you?_

The telepath nodded mutely, a lump in his throat. _Count on it._

Beth made a sound between a laugh and a sob, and leaned up to kiss his cheek before. She turned and went to George, who was looking misty-eyed himself.

Sally shifted her hold on Kathy to give Nikola a one-armed hug. _I will miss you so, so much_. _You helped me get through this in a way that no one else could_. She let go, stepped back, and nodded to him with a sad half-smile, then rejoined Beth.

George was blinking hard as he enfolded the girls, and kissed Kathy on the forehead. "Bye-bye, sweetheart. Be good for Mama."

Kathy's face began to crumple again. _Don't go_...

Sally started rocking her. "Shhhh, shhh…"

Beth rested her head on George's shoulder, whimpered softly, and whispered, "Thank you for everything…" _Thank you for being a dad for me, for all of us_.

George tightened his arms just a little, careful not to squash Kathy, chest aching. "It was our pleasure, Mrs. Holmes." Leaving loved ones never got any easier, it seemed... if not for the rest of his family across the Atlantic, he would have been sorely tempted to stay.

Beth had to stifle a sob. "Take care," Sally whispered. "And come back some time."

The inventor beamed, releasing the trio with great reluctance. "You just try to stop us."

The Doctor held the TARDIS console as he watched, gripping it tightly. He may have been starting to get cabin fever, but he had never liked goodbyes, and this lot was _family_... Just thinking of his farewells with Mrs. Hudson early that morning made his hearts hurt.

While the girls were saying goodbye to Nikola and George, Watson went over and gave the Doctor a bear hug worthy of George. "Doctor..." If only he had the words... "God bless you. "

The Doctor returned the hug, murmuring, "Best wishes, John." His human colleague had quite a life ahead of him!

"You take care now." Even with companions, Heaven only knew what trouble the Time Lord would get himself into next!

"Ohhh," the Doctor drawled, doing his best to brighten up, "'course I will. I've still got my old girl—she'll look after me." The TARDIS twittered an enthusiastic affirmative, and the Time Lord had to smile. "And we'll both be keeping an eye on your little Time Lady."

Watson nodded gratefully, smiling in renewed wonder. "We'll hold you to that, Doctor. You know far more than we do about living with the Time Vortex." Grinning ruefully, "I'll have to be very careful to keep Kathy away from some of my patients."

The Doctor smiled more fully. "You'll do just fine, and so will she." They'd met Kathy before, after all, and she had been magnificent.

Watson let go and stepped back to let Holmes say goodbye, putting his arm around Sally when she and Beth came up; his girls both looked so forlorn, and Beth's expression was heartbreaking.

Sally nestled into her husband's hold, her chest hurting.

The Doctor hugged Sherlock Holmes tightly, unable to speak at first. He wondered if he'd ever even be able to look at the man again without feeling the now-familiar combination of guilt and pride. _Don't think about that now_.

Holmes managed to swallow the lump in his throat, murmuring, "Thank you, Doctor." He smiled kindly at the still speechless Time Lord. "What I said the first time we parted... I still stand by it." _"This has been the most incredible adventure, I wouldn't have missed it for the world."_

The Doctor managed to swallow the lump in his throat and nodded slowly, making an attempt at a smile for Sherlock's sake. "I guess," he started hoarsely, stopped, and cleared his throat—"I guess I'd agree with that." He regretted a lot of things, but getting to know and befriend Sherlock Holmes and John Watson wasn't one of them.

Holmes arched a mock-stern eyebrow. "Glad to hear it." He clasped the Doctor's shoulder warmly. "Travel well, my friend."

The Time Lord smiled a little bit more genuinely. "I always do."

Smile turning misty, Holmes let go and moved aside to let the girls say their goodbyes, Sally stepping forward first.

The Doctor met her halfway. He would certainly have liked more time to get to know her, but there would be time enough for that in the future.

"Well," Sally said slowly, her heart suddenly a tumult of emotions, not just loss. "I guess I'll see you around, Doctor."

The Time Lord smiled reassuringly. "I guess you will." Something was troubling her; he'd never seen her this uncertain before. "What's wrong?" he said gently.

Sally shook her head, moving closer. "Doctor," she murmured, "I'm scared. For Kathy. I'm scared that..." She laughed despairingly. "I'm just human—how can I possibly raise a Time Lady?" She wasn't telepathic like Nikola, and her daughter would also always be exquisitely aware of Time in a way Sally was not. One might as well ask a wolf to raise a human child and expect the poor child to function properly as a person! "She's going to need—"

"She's going to need your love," the Doctor said firmly, "and the rest will follow." And Kathy would be quite possibly the most loved child in all of Gallifreyan history. "She'll be all right, Sally, I promise you. Better than all right—she'll be _brilliant_. And the TARDIS and I will be around to help. All right?"

Sally closed her eyes, took a breath, and nodded.

The Doctor bent down over the baby, tenderly stroking her soft cheek. "You be a good girl for Mummy and Daddy, okay?" he murmured.

Kathy cooed softly. _I'll be good_.

The Doctor smiled. "I'll be back soon." He kissed her forehead, then rose and carefully wrapped his arms around Sally, who returned the hug with one arm. "Bye, Sally," he whispered. "Thanks again, for everything."

"Goodbye, Doctor, and thank _you_." Despite all the pain... Sally could not regret having gotten caught up in the Doctor's adventures. She stepped back, nodded, and returned to her husband.

Beth took a step toward the Doctor, then all but ran to him and threw her arms around him. He held her tightly, and she bit her lip. She had always liked the Doctor—zed, he'd been inside her head at one point—even if she hadn't always gotten along with him. And she was going to miss him now... and an ashamed part of her knew that she was going to miss him and the TARDIS as being her last concrete link to home, to _her_ world.

"Still wanna travel in the TARDIS," she murmured. All of Time and Space she might be able to see on her own someday, but the idea of doing it in the TARDIS just felt so much more... comfortable. A little less like the vagabond she'd been for almost a year.

He chuckled softly in surprise. "I'll see what I can do." Maybe take just her and Sally sometime—he had a feeling that each of the girls singly had way more sense than him and their husbands combined. "I _will_ get you your way home and back again, I promise."

Beth nodded, tears escaping her. "Please just don't take too long," she said hoarsely.

"I'll try not to." The Time Lord sighed and rubbed her back comfortingly. "Thank you... for everything." Beth didn't reply, only tightened her hold. "I know you feel like you don't deserve that," he continued gently, "and maybe you never will." Poor girl... in searching her timeline, he had seen the two years between their first meeting and their second. It had broken his hearts to discover that losing her best friend had changed Beth forever, in more ways than one. She was much more like her husband than either of them would have supposed. "But please just trust... that _we_ think you do. Okay?"

"...okay," she whispered.

"Take care of yourself. Take care of Sherlock. Make him take care of you."

Beth giggled in spite of herself. "Okay."

"Okay." The Doctor pulled back and squeezed her shoulder gently. " _Hasta la vista,_ kiddo."

Beth smiled slightly, genuinely. " _Hasta la vista_." She drifted back to where Sherlock stood, waiting, and wound her arms around his waist, desperately needing the comfort.

Holmes wrapped his arm around her, smiling in tender understanding. "Are you ready, love?" he asked gently.

Beth took a deep breath, trying her hardest not to lose her composure or her sanity—she really did _not_ want to leave. "As ready as I'll ever be."

He gave her a comforting squeeze, and shouldered his bag. "See you soon, Doctor." He nodded to Nikola and George. "Gentlemen." Arm still around Beth, he made himself start heading towards the door.

Watson murmured to Sally and Kathy, "Well, my dears?"

Sally looked at the Doctor, then glanced wistfully at the central column, then at George and Nikola. She almost felt... unfaithful to her husband; she couldn't begin to describe how much the inventors had helped her, or how much she'd relied on them. "Right, ready," she lied softly.

Watson kissed her hair, then addressed the three men, grinning bravely. "Until next time, you three. _Try_ to keep each other out of trouble till then."

The Doctor smiled slightly past the ache in his chest and raised his hand in farewell.

George and Nikola exchanged glances, snickering. "I'll do my best..." George answered wryly. God knew the other two wouldn't.

The Doctor rolled his eyes—as if he and Nikola weren't grown men!—and bent over the console, busying himself with it to hide the tears he could no longer hold back.

Nonetheless, Sally thought she saw a glimmer on his cheek. "Bye," she said softly.

Holmes blinked hard, steeling himself not to look back as he stepped outside – if he hesitated now, he might never leave at all – and took a few steps away before turning.

Beth tightened her hold on him for his own comfort more than for hers.

He smiled gratefully, still trying to hold back the tears that he wouldn't allow himself to shed in front of the Doctor.

Watson lifted a hand in a last farewell, then he and his family joined the Holmeses outside.

The TARDIS closed, and the Doctor slowly, gently took her into the Vortex and out of 1895.

Watson wrapped his arms back around Sally and Kathy as the TARDIS faded. "Godspeed, Doctor..." he said softly.

Holmes rested his head against Beth's until the sound of the TARDIS had faded away, staring wistfully at the bare patch of ground in the middle of the melting snow. Funny thing, now he came to think of it: he'd been standing in the snow the last time, too... Then Watson caught his eye, the doctor smiling at him in sympathy as he held his own family; after all, they might be back on the slow path again, but their own adventures weren't over yet, far from it.

* * *

Breakfast was a quiet affair, the sitting room table feeling very empty with just the five of them around it. Even Mrs. Hudson looked pensive, but was happy to take the girls shopping with her that morning – Beth still needed a court dress, and Sally would also be needing an evening gown eventually.

God only knew how long it would take to adjust back to normal Victorian life this time, Holmes mused, sitting in his chair before the fire and chewing on the stem of an empty pipe. Sharing the house with a newborn seemed an excellent excuse to give up smoking once and for all, but the withdrawal was quite another matter!

Watson sat in his chair, as well, scribbling notes in his notebook—there was so much to record! He stopped, chewed the pencil briefly, and sighed. "Well," he said aloud, "I must admit this has been one adventure I hardly feel inclined to write up, let alone publish..." Even if it wouldn't be dismissed out of hand as pure fantasy, it was also extremely intimate and painful.

Holmes smiled faintly, taking the pipe out of his mouth. "On the contrary, my dear fellow... I'm afraid that this is one story which must be told – with a few alterations, of course." Well, more than a few, perhaps!

Watson frowned in confusion, then recalled that Beth had been familiar with the actual case. "Oh. The case itself?"

"Indeed. Might I suggest as a title: 'The Bruce-Partington Plans'?" Probably best not to tell Watson just where he'd gotten that idea from... 'Sherlock Holmes for Dummies' wasn't the most flattering title in itself.

Watson smiled. "I cannot think of a better one."

"Bearing in mind," Holmes hastened to add, raising a stern forefinger, "that I _still_ do not approve your romanticising of a serious field of work."

Watson smirked; he'd been waiting to use this comeback since the wedding. "My dear fellow, I'm afraid that the _overwhelming_ adoration of the public, present and future—your wife included—is an overriding consideration for me."

The detective groaned, shaking his head. "And very glad I am to be shot of those hordes of future fans!" Well, all but three, anyhow... "I never should have let the Doctor drag me along to that Holmes film festival in '69."

Watson threw his head back, laughing; Holmes's sour expression was too much to bear straight-faced. "I did _not_ thank that man enough for everything, it seems!"

Holmes shot the doctor a half-hearted glower, then sighed. "Now you know why I was so reluctant to attend Brett's performance at Wyndham's Theater. If I had heard Peter Cushing utter 'Elementary, my dear Watson' one more time..."

Watson bit down a grin. "Well… I haven't written your saying that yet. I _could_ simply never do that."

"Thank you, Watson, I appreciate the thought..." Glumly, "Although I rather doubt it'll make much difference."

The doctor chuckled sympathetically. "Well, I'll omit it nonetheless."

Holmes nodded appreciatively, smile unconsciously turning wistful as he gazed at his friend.

Watson noticed and smiled quizzically. "What is it?"

The detective made a sound that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "I was just thinking... how very long it's been since the two of us last sat together like this. I have missed that, Watson, very much." So much, in the end, that he couldn't even look at the doctor's empty chair...

Watson's own smile turned a bit sad. "As have I," he said softly. The ache had been almost constant before the end. And now he wasn't sure how much longer he _would_ sit with Holmes like this; he had a family now, and Holmes and Beth were married, cramming six people into this small house...

"Is something wrong, Watson?" Stupid question, really, Holmes knew that preoccupied look.

Watson hesitated, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say. "Well, not _wrong_ , precisely... it's simply that..." He sighed. _You're being ridiculous_. "Well, all five—all _six_ —of us living together under one roof is going to take some getting used to..." It might not be a situation anyone would appreciate for long, particularly Holmes, who valued his personal space.

For a moment, Holmes felt as if the chair had been pulled out from under him... _Really? Come on, old chap, let's not go through all that again! You should have foreseen this days ago._ "...my dear fellow, say no more. I will freely admit that this is hardly the best place for raising an infant." He managed a faint smile. "But please do remember that Baker Street is your home, too, and always will be."

Watson stared—even after everything that had happened, he didn't want assume that his family could remain in 221B for very long. As Holmes himself said, it was hardly the best place for raising a baby... _But look at him. He doesn't want you to go. That's what started this_. "I... ah... Holmes, you must understand: Sally and I really have no wish to leave Baker Street. And it may be some time before I can even set up shop in a new house with a new practice..."

The tightening in Holmes's chest vanished in an instant at the sincerity in the doctor's voice, colouring at his own foolishness. "Watson... Forgive me, for a moment I thought..." He sat forward to meet Watson's gaze earnestly. "And I am heartily ashamed that such assurances were necessary, my dear friend."

Watson shook his head slightly, feeling foolish himself. "Holmes, you may not be of the same mind after a month of living with a baby, and... so much has changed. We're all changed." He felt saddened as he said it; there was a sadness, a sense of newly-gained maturity, in them all. Most visible in Sally and Beth, poor girls, Sally rushed into motherhood and Beth into adulthood... but the change was visible in Holmes, as well, and Watson felt it in his bones, rejuvenated though they were by his daughter. "I did not want to... assume... something that might not be true."

Holmes sighed faintly, exasperation warring with affection. "You know," he mused, "it's comforting, in a way, to know I'm not the only one who has trouble seeing the obvious at times..." His voice lost its teasing tone, smiling solemnly but tenderly at his friend. "But as I have learnt all too well firsthand, Watson... I truly am lost without you." In the fullness of time, of course, the Watsons would seek a new home – Kathy couldn't share a room with her parents forever – but that day was still a long way off. And on reflection, the notion seemed rather less dreadful to Holmes now, knowing as he did that 221B would never again feel _quite_ as empty as it once had.

Watson blushed, though it was wonderful to hear the sentiment again. They would be all right this time; they really would be. The thought filled his heart with joy. "Holmes… I rather think the reverse is true for me."

Holmes raised his pipe as if he were holding a glass, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the heat of the fire. "Then here is to the slow path, my dear fellow... and the continued adventures of Holmes and Watson –" with an impish gleam in his eye; "all five of them."

Watson chuckled and raised his notebook in return. "Hear, hear."

 **To Be Continued...**

 **in 'Compliments of the Season'**

* * *

 **Ria:** *sigh* It breaks my heart as much as Sherlock, knowing that eventually the Watsons will be quitting 221B for good... but at least the thought doesn't terrify him like it used to!

It feels so unreal – _finally_ coming to the end of Season 1, after the better part of five years! Panic not, folks, Christmas episode coming up, to be followed by Season 2! Speaking of Christmas... as there is one _tiny_ bit left of the Bruce-Partington case, those interested should head over to Sky's fanfic page. The Holmeses' visit to Windsor is posted in this year's Christmas challenge, 'All I Want For Christmas Is Crime', Day 9: 'The Detective's Wife'.


End file.
